A Foreign Education
by Aurellia F
Summary: Hornblower must go back to Russia. This time he's helping both royal families but will he find a greater purpose to serve? He and his crew brave the sea, intricate politics, and the dangerous choices of two women locked in a battle for power and freedom.
1. A Meeting and a New Heading

_A Foreign Education_

Aurellia Framboise

_I Do Not Own Horatio Hornblower-_

_A quick note- This story takes place somewhere after the book The Commodore and Lord Hornblower,  and someplace before Hornblower in the West Indies. Hornblower is about thirty in this story. I have kept a few of Forester's characters but most are my own ie the crew, Richard, and the people Hornblower must deal with. Also, I have taken artistic liberties with the historical characters- some of them are real, some of them are not- all their actions most certainly are._

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An icy wind drew upon the warmth of Hornblower s face as he stood, arms crossed, in the aft deck of the HMS Spyridon. It brought stinging tears to the corners of his eyes. If not for the voluptuous overcoat and carefully layered clothing, Hornblower would have been too distracted by the wind to think. Due to his newly acquired position as a captain, his mind was wracked with a myriad of thoughts, but only one was disturbing him at the moment. What to do about this infernal head wind? They weren't going to make good time if it persisted. And according to all his years at sea, the dismal weather would soon be forming into a difficult tempest. It was going to be a long, hard night for his crew. He blinked, dispelling the salty little water formations from their resting places and sending them in moist, horizontal streaks across the sides of his face- soon to be dried by the pushing winds.

The watch bell tolled, signaling the changing of shifts. Half-frozen seamen unlocked themselves from their various, stiffly-crouched positions and gingerly made their way below deck, arms wrapped around themselves in a semi-permanent fashion for relative warmth- too cold and tired to be genuinely excited that their shift had ended. All the while, rested seamen, still chatty despite their knowledge of the coming wait, made their way up to the poop deck to relieve the watch.  
Hornblower readjusted his arms to cover a chill spot the intrusive wind had uncovered in his armor of coats.  
A half-hour into the morning watch, Styles called from the crow's nest, "Ship ho!"

"Where?" hollered Bevins, the first mate, as he clung to his hat with a hand and squinted at Styles.  
"Five points off the starboard bow, Sir!" Bevins turned to Hornblower, "From England, then, probably."

"Let's not test our luck," Hornblower cautioned. "Mr. Daley! The glass if you please!"  
Making their way to the bow hurriedly, Hornblower was the first to arrive and quickly lifted the glass to his eye. A few seconds focusing revealed a miniscule dark ship, easily spotted against the chilly, white sky and choppy windblown waves. As they watched, the unknown ship raised her colors.

"British," Daley confirmed.  
The smaller ship pulled alongside the Spyridon and a few of its passengers took a small boat and boarded the impressive war ship. Hornblower noted their poorly concealed wonderment confirming his first assumption of their being merchants. One of the merchant crew members puffed himself up and offered Hornblower an overly stiff salute, followed by an admirable handshake.  
"Captain, sir. I m Wally Fairbraid and this is part of my crew. He proceeded to make short, to-the-point introductions. Hornblower nodded to each of the scraggly crew members."  
"Welcome to the Spyridon, men. I'm Captain Hornblower."

"Yes sir. We were told we might come across you sir. We were asked to deliver a message from the Admiral, sir, if we spotted you."  
From his tattered breast pocket be extracted a letter bearing an official stamp. Hornblower accepted the correspondence and broke the seal. Skimming it over quickly, he handed it to Lieutenant Daley.  
"Thank you, Mister Fairbraid. Will you have a drink in the officer s cabins with us before you continue?"

The puffed-up captain looked extremely pleased at having been asked, but politely declined. "No sir. Thank you but I must get back to my ship. If my knowledge of temperamental weather serves me right, it seems I have a storm to prepare for!"

"Quite right, sir. I'll tell the Admiral of your effort."

"Thank you." The ramshackle captain, sensing the end of the meeting, straightened up as if he were a soldier previously at ease. "And sir..." Captain Hornblower looked to him again, "good luck with the Frenchies." With that, the old merchant captain saluted him once more and proudly made his way back to the other ship accompanied by his minute crew.  
There was something comforting about the simple, old man, thought Hornblower. Fairbraid reminded him of all the people just trying to live their lives amongst the bellicose dealings of mighty lords. Patriotic all the same.

The crews fare-welled each other with waves of their hands, and the smaller vessel retracted its anchor and made way. Hornblower turned back to his crew and made his own way to the officers cabins with a few officers.  
"Blasted weather", muttered Bevins as he removed his cap and banged off some frost.

The various officers removed their layers. Daley quickly poured some wine to warm his chilled extremities, having not succeeded in doing just that the entire time above deck by blowing on his hands and rubbing them together vigorously. Hornblower pulled out paper and quill, and commenced to filling out a log entry. One of the midshipmen who had neglected to remove his overcoat warily asked,

"Excuse me, Captain, sir, should I give orders to ready for the storm?"

"You should, Mister Emmett, if we were going to be sailing into it," he agreed as he continued to scribble in the log entry. "But, as the letter Captain Fairbraid just delivered informs me, we have a new heading." Writing something down of a scrap of paper, he tore it off and handed it to Emmett. "Give that to Lyford."  
Emmett accepted the scrap, "Lyford?"  
"He's at helm. Back to Portsmouth!" he turned to the thawing men. "It appears we have a new mission."


	2. A Brief Return to Portsmouth

Three days later, in Portsmouth, Horatio politely accepted Admiral Pellew's offer of wine while he stood, slightly uncomfortably, in his office, which had been filled with an array of maritime antiques.  
"So," the Admiral started, as he filled Hornblower s glass with a pleasant wine and handed it to him. "The King has a cousin."

Hornblower waited for Pellew to continue. When it seemed as though the Admiral had forgotten entirely that he was in the midst of a story, Hornblower awkwardly prompted him by asking, "A cousin? I've heard the King has a quite a few cousins."

"Ah, yes. Well this one is of a more pressing importance. Sir Phillip Fredrick Hanover II, of York and Albany, Earl of Ulster," and here Pellew drew a breath, "was promised to a Spanish noble's daughter in a diplomatic arrangement, but managed to 'go missing' a fortnight before the wedding." He finished with a sigh that bemoaned his silent disapproval for the young man's foolish actions.

"Went missing?" Hornblower asked suspiciously.  
Pellew looked up from his cup. "Yes, quite interesting in fact." Hornblower noted the repressed disapproval and annoyance in Pellew's tone. Beneath it, lay an unvoiced warning, as if to say, 'Careful what you imply, Hornblower.'

"Ah, I see," Hornblower offered, clearly not seeing what the Admiral was driving at.  
Admiral Pellew continued, "The King wants him brought back."

'Ah, so he's a runaway!' thought Hornblower. Ever the logical type, not wanting to jump to conclusions before all the facts were known Horatio ventured a question, "But why is His Majesty sending one of his finest ships of the line to find him? Surely my crew can contribute to the war in some other more suited capacity."

"Oh you' re not finding him. They know where he is." Pellew put his glass down and walked over to the window. With his back to Hornblower he said, "You're going to Russia to get him." "Russia?"

"Yes, Hornblower. Russia. You're already in Czar Alexander's good favors and this is a matter of great delicacy. You see, this is why I need someone I can trust. What's said in this room doesn't leave. You may only tell your men- with discretion- after the Spyridon leaves the docks. Understand?"

Hornblower nodded seriously.  
"His Highness, the Duke, has, it seems, fled to Saint Petersburg for a different girl."

Hornblower rolled his eyes.  
"Now listen, Horatio. This girl is Russian nobility- niece to Czar Alexander, apparently. King George has written to Alexander and asked that his brother's bastard son be sent back and the relationship quashed."

"And Alexander refused?"

"No, he agreed. His niece convinced the Duke to run away. We're under a time crunch to get him before they elope. The Czar has been chasing them down and threatening imprisonment to any priest who attempts to marry the two. Alexander has his own interests and plans to protect. No doubt his niece fits in them somewhere."

"So I'm to go and overwhelm the couple, capture Hanover and bring him back?"

Pellew turned back to Hornblower with a look normally portrayed by exhausted accountants or lawyers or such. Clearly Pellew did not relish the allotment of such a task to a good captain and friend like Hornblower.  
"Alas, nobles' politics are always submersed in complex dealings. His Majesty has also asked that his wife's cousin, Lady Anne Furse, accompany your ship with select members of her court to play diplomatic envoy to Czar Alexander. She is one of His Majesty's favorites and is to be treated as such. She has all the power of a lord while on your ship, granted to her by the king."

Hornblower set his glass on the desk and rubbed his brow with his hand. He felt a headache fast surfacing.  
Pellew continued, "This is as much of a diplomatic trip as it is a retrieval of something lost. Relations with Russia are precarious as they have always been. You saved the Czar once. That's something he'll not likely forget soon. He needs a friendly face right now. To make matters worse, His Majesty has delegated that a reasonably-sized company of Royal Marines accompany you off the ship when necessary to act as enforcers of the King's will. Rebellion is in the air right now in Russia. Alexander doesn't need any more problems. Neither does our King. You must protect England's interests. You must go, Horatio."

Hornblower felt ashamed. He was a servant to England. Pellew's patience and sympathy was in rare form among men who lead wars. He should not even have to explain himself to the lower captain. Hornblower felt honored to serve under him. Hornblower lowered his face but raised his eyes to meet Admiral Pellew's.  
"Yes sir. Of course."

Pellew smiled at Hornblower and changed the subject to a lighter matter. "Good. Now I've a new horse I want you to take a look at, then we'll see what the kitchen staff have prepared for our dinner tonight. Lady Barbara is coming, isn't she? Yes? Good. Mrs. Pellew will be pleased."

{{{{}}}}

"Please Barbara. Let s not be angry tonight," Hornblower said as the carriage came to a stop and the footman opened the door.  
Lady Barbara's softening face had little, upset tears filling its eyes. Hornblower patiently wiped them away.

"I don t think I have much time left ashore and I don't like to fight with you." She nodded at his words and smiled. 'Why can't she understand I have no choice in when I stay and when I go?' Her unrealistic choices annoyed him. Like a child, she was sometimes. Still he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile and hopped out of the carriage.  
The grandeur of the Pellews' house distracted her further.  
"Oh Horatio! What a beautiful house. They must have a wonderful staff! I shall tell Mrs. Pellew that her house rivals that of my family."

Hornblower doubted that. Her family was nicely situated in their status and monetary worth. Lately they'd had troubles, yes, but a fair cry better than most were at this day and age. Hornblower had never thought he'd marry into such a family, but fate had. Married once before to a simple woman, Mariah, he had found a doting wife. 'She would have gawked at this house if she were here,' he reflected sentimentally. 'Not with the refined composure of Lady Barbara commentating on the impressive facade of the house. She would have felt nervous and out of place the whole night.' He quit his sentimental train of thought. 'I never treated her the way she should have been treated. I married her for pity and avoided her anytime she tried to strengthen our bond. At least one good thing came from our marriage,' he reminisced as he waited outside the carriage door for Barbara, letting his mind wander to thoughts of his only child at his new home, asleep in his infinitesimal bed. He never got to know his true mother. 'Poor Mariah gave her life for our son trying to bring him into this world.'

His new wife, Lady Barbara, extended her delicate hand from the carriage to meet his own waiting hand for support as she exited the coach. He owed Lady Barbara much. After Mariah died, Lady Barbara had taken the task of caring for her newborn baby boy as her own ward until Hornblower came back from his duties at sea. The interval after he came back had been quite a difficult one. The guilt over his negligence of Mariah while she was with child was a hard cross to bare for him. Although he hadn't loved her, she had loved him and had continued to despite his discomfort in the marriage. He had relied very much on Lady Barbara for support and after awhile, feelings for the Lady had stirred inside him. Lady Barbara had been married once before as well. Hornblower had served under her late husband Admiral Leighton for many years before he died. She was clever, beautiful, and had the bearing of a lady. She also had kindness and a love for Hornblower's infant son. One day, he had tried to tell the Lady of his appreciation for her help and instead had ended up revealing his feelings for her. Lady Barbara reciprocated and soon they began to court. Eventually, they married. Although Hornblower was not a great noble, he was permitted by her family to marry her, if only because he was knighted and had a promising career future. Despite the dryness of marriage dealings, Hornblower felt as though he was finally with a woman he could love. 'Maybe marriage isn't for everyone,' he mused, thinking of the current state of their marriage. 'It's not as bad as it had been with Mariah, but still...' There was something missing. It was starting to feel like a shell of a marriage. 'Never mind that now. You've got a dinner to go to,' he told himself.

Together, they walked through the stately entrance and into the Pellew house.

Dinner was well thought-out and smelled delicious, but Hornblower's appetite was that of a weathered seaman. Rich foods made him too full and queasy with the added girth. The Pellews were delightful hosts, and they were studied quietly by Hornblower as the evening passed. If Lady Barbara and he could be one tenth of what the Pellews' marriage was, Hornblower figured they would be better off than most.  
All through the night, his mind kept returning to his ship. Even later, when Lady Barbara and he had gone to bed, his mind wandered to the life he knew and could feel most at ease in. For Barbara's sake, he was attentive and caring, but the attention-starved wife noticed preoccupation and concern. After all was said and done, she squelched the feeling of unease and told herself she was looking for things to worry herself about and soon drifted off to sleep in his wide-awake arms.

{{{{}}}}

"Matthews! Take Wilkes and ready that rigging!" Hornblower shouted to his men.

They'd had a week to enjoy themselves while they waited for their wind. Now was the time to make haste. Everyone was attending to their respective duties: the Marines preparing their quarters between the crew's and the quarterdeck, the crew scrambling in every direction with purpose, Styles going through the ship's galley supply.

"Hornblower! Horn-blower! Come down here! Lady Furse is to arrive and I want you to be here to meet her!" Hornblower looked down and over the side of the ship to where Pellew was hollering below. He bit back his childish annoyance at having to deal with this unnecessary burden.

"Daley, can you...?" he gestured hopelessly at the general mess.

Daley looked over the side to where Pellew stood. He turned back to Hornblower with a humorous smile on his face. "Yes sir. I've got the anchor detail handled. You don't have to worry. Give the blue bloods my hullo!" Daley teased.

Hornblower gave him a chagrined smile in good humor, and made for the docks. He quickly marched over to where Pellew stood next to Lady Barbra with his infantile son, Richard. He came to a quick halt. Pellew eyed Hornblower's disheveled manner worriedly. Hornblower choosing to ignore his superior's concerned look, turned instead to Barbara whose arms held his little boy. He couldn't help a smile from surfacing on his beleaguered face. The gorgeous little child's eyes were filled with wonder and excitement. As Hornblower leaned closer, he could see the bright and busy world reflected in Richard's eyes. And in the middle of the hazel orbs was Hornblower's own face staring back at him. Hornblower's heart slowed and the world seemed far away for a moment. 'This boy may be the only one in the world I truly love,' he thought quietly, and pressed a calloused hand against the side of the boy's face to hold that connection for just a little bit longer.  
Barbara watched him peacefully. 'This is the first time I ve seen him truly at peace', she reflected. It made her happy too. She reached out a free hand and felt his arm through his uniform. He looked up at her though his face remained focused on the boy. Wanting to share his mirth, he shot her a boyish smile. The Lady felt relief. From what- she didn t know. She just knew that she didn't want him to leave without remembering why he came to shore at all.

Pellew, who had been looking back at the road for sign of their approaching royals, broke in with a nervous comment about the frantic state of these "infernal docks!" Lady Barbara politely nodded to Pellew who was too busy worrying to realize he had intruded upon a special moment in his anxious haste. Hornblower too came out of his fleeting sanctuary and began to address the day's tasks that lay ahead, which weren't going to wait on anyone.

Presently, an imposing carriage drawn by four superb beasts came to a sudden halt in an uncluttered area of the port not far from the hectic road. Another carriage trailing faithfully behind was less impressive, but held an inordinate amount of luggage strapped to the top, and inside the crammed assortment of cases continued.  
Hornblower's mind gave an involuntary, 'Oh, Lord.' When he went to roll his eyes though, he peripherally saw Pellew give him a glaring smile, wrought with warning. 'Pellew must have a lot riding on this,' He thought worriedly. 'Pellew s a good man. I will not let my reservations damage him.' Hornblower gave him a brief nod and a subsidiary but encouraging smile to extinguish the Admiral's worries.

"You're a respectable man, Horatio. England requires your services in many capacities. I know you'll serve England as best you can."

"Of course, sir. Thank you sir."

They continued their chat tersely under their breaths as the coaches passengers began to disembark. Pellew was muttering something about the men being on their best behavior. The subservient officer pretended to listen. Hornblower didn't need any instruction as to how to handle to the situation. He knew his duties. Taking advantage the morning, he had already enlightened his crew as to their punishment should any man step out of line.

Out of the carriage came three ladies- the first one clad quite more garishly than the last two. She held her head so high it almost tilted backwards. He smiled tightly and banged his fist against the side of his leg to suppress his irritation. The only one to notice was Richard who cooed a little and squirmed. The three ladies came waltzing forward in a courtly fashion and stopped before Hornblower, his family, and Pellew, who came rushing forward to kiss the first Lady's hand and express his "most-humble" wishes of a safe passage and his pleasure at finally getting to meet Lord Furse's "enchanting daughter."

Hornblower watched as the pretty, young lady kept her head at an imperious angle the entire encounter and her face regally plastered in a bored disdain.

"And this is Captain Horatio Hornblower of the Spyridon and his lovely wife Lady Barbara of the Wellesleys. He will be your care-taker while on-ship!" He gushed gesturing at the pair, who simultaneously bowed and curtsied politely.

He would be polite, he decided. But he would not feign interest. He had made up his mind once he saw how she treated Admiral Pellew. Poor man. Lady Anne noticed his attitude in an instant. She batted he pretty blue eyes at him and gave him a sly smirk. Hornblower felt looked-down upon.

"How do you do?" he offered peaceably.

Waiting a fraction of a moment before responding, she artfully chimed, "Very well, thank you Captain. I hope our voyage goes well. Uncle would be terribly upset if anything were to happen." 'Was that supposed to be her version of a thank you? No, there was a threat in that comment!' Hornblower made a note of it.

"Ah, ah, ah..." interjected Pellew with a small laugh. "Let's not tempt the fates, eh?" He turned to some of the crew who were pretending to work on the docks as they watched the lady and her entourage. Pellew picked one and waved him over in a decisive manner, "Wilkes! Get the Ladies things on board!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Wilkes hesitated, "Uh, where, sir? If I may ask."

"Captain's quarters," Hornblower decreed.

Pellew looked to the Lady for her reaction. She gave a thin smile and an obliging nod.

"If I may ask, Lady Furse, is that all to go aboard?" Hornblower indicated towards the baggage-laden carriage being unloaded by an entirely-too-small footman.

Lady Furse looked at him, plainly taking delight at being a nuisance. "Yes, yes it is. All of it," came the luxurious little response. The two little ladies behind her shared a decadent Cheshire grin quietly.

Hornblower bit his frustration back. He in no way found the moment endearing or humorous. 'No matter,' the annoyed captain mused to himself, 'If we are chased or attacked, those will be the first things overboard.'

The ladies were lead aboard by the doting Admiral and left the Captain and his small family to their goodbyes. Hornblower kissed his own Lady and took Richard into his arms one last time. Looking into the child's intelligent eyes, Hornblower suddenly felt the need to keep his son with him. If only he could start teaching little Richard about all the things that he loved. The ship was no place for a baby though, and he would have enough to deal with en regard to the adults.

"I'll be back soon," he promised the little boy. Then he kissed the child on the head and retuned him to his adoptive mother, before kissing her too and making his way to the awaiting HMS Spyridon.


	3. Suppers and Scudding

Everything seemed to be going surprisingly well. The weather, and therefore the sea, was quite well-behaved and Hornblower thanked the higher powers for this. Dusk was quickly advancing and now his only present worry was providing his esteemed dinner guests with sparkling repartee. Not a pressing matter, but present all the same.

"Will that be all, Sir?" inquired Bryson, who had been instructed to mind the helm.

"Mmm? Oh, yes," he responded, coming out of his reverie. "I'm going below. You know what to do if anything arises."

Bryson stood at attention, "Sir!"

Banging down the rungs of the stairs like the experienced seaman he was, Hornblower jolted to a stop at the bottom and calmly rearranged any disgruntled clothing. The captain's quarters had been rearranged for dining purposes. Surprisingly quite elegantly by Styles, the unfortunate cook. _'Maybe he had help,'_ he mused as he waited. While the officers congregated, Hornblower struck up a conversation with the first mate, Thomas Bevins. Benjamin Hollister, the Royal Marines' new Colonel Commandant, joined their conversation with his newly assigned second in command, Aaron Morris, another genial young man. They did not have long to wait however, because soon enough the Lady Furse made her stately way into the provisional dining cabin. She bestowed a gorgeous smile on the men and graciously accepted a seat offered to her by the first man to jump up and volunteer a chair (preferably right next to his own). Her two ladies were similarly handled and with a few introductory words, dinner commenced.

Lots of pointless blathering went on through out the night. Captain Hornblower sat and ate in polite silence until he was inevitably dragged into the conversation by questions from his dainty dinner guests. The ladies, of course, wanted to know his political viewpoints, connections, and standings. Like most land-lubbers, although it wouldn't be proper to address them as such, they wanted to be regaled with anecdotes of his courageous "adventures-at-sea." He obligingly provided them with some brief details of his past, but as always he kept most everything else under wraps. Eventually, his guests' attentions waned, only to be recaptured by another, more-willing officer recounting stories of increasing fantastical material. Below deck, such an event would have been called "swingin the lamp," in reference to the lamps that swung from the ropes in the crew's quarters as the men swapped tall tales like children late at night. Hornblower listened to the meaningless chatter though.

Lady Furse seemed to watch him throughout the night. Hornblower, who was not used to the subtle ways of courtiers, but rather the forthright, open dealings of naval warfare, shifted uncomfortably under the calculating gaze of the lady. He felt as though he were being weighed in his level of use and importance. Any conclusion she reached was beyond him. Whatever she thought, he decided, it didn't matter. Unnerved as he was by her icy blue eyes, he kept his whist face on and continued to participate (although reluctantly and considerably more cautiously than normal) in the dinner conversation.

At the end of the night, they all bestowed their wishes of pleasant nights and took their leave of each other. Some of the officers handled themselves with more aplomb than the others. Most were disconcerted at being in the presence of well-placed nobility.

Up on deck, Hornblower turned to Bevins and let out a deep breath. The first mate chuckled in accordance.

_'What a trip this will be,' _he concluded quietly to himself.

{{{{}}}}

The ladies stuck mainly to their quarters for the majority of the time. What they did to pass the time was entirely beyond any of the men. Every now and then, they would emerge to get some fresh air, make a request, or invariably to visit the Spyridon's make-shift sickbay inquiring hopefully after seasickness remedies. Men would stop and gawk at them as they made their daily constitutionals above deck in what little walking space they could find. On more than one occasion Hornblower would nod at the Officer of the Deck who would give the order to resume work. Sometimes, one of Lady Furse's Ladies would walk about on her own, fetch something for her mistress, or flirt with the ship's company, but Lady Furse was never to be seen on her own.

Dinners were less and less taxing as everyone became more acquainted and private jokes were born and shared. Hornblower relaxed and learned to ignore the Lady's calculating eyes. He even began to admire her witty remarks and glossy, brown hair; her wily ways becoming just a quirk instilled in her.

_'No doubt from her years being raised at court. Who wouldn't be somewhat changed from the intricacies of court life?' _he reasoned, trying to assuage his ridiculous discomfort_, 'Much like I have changed from my years at sea.'_

Still, there was something disconcerting about her. So Hornblower kept his guard.

One night at supper, she finally asked, "Captain...?"

She had caught him mid-sip and he barely escaped choking as he reflexively tried to respond, "Yes?"

"Why does your wife not come to court?"

The laughter and mild conversation on either side of him melted away so they could all listen. He set his wine down and quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Slightly embarrassed and regrettably flustered, it took him a moment to gather his thoughts and respond.

"Ah... I don't believe she has an interest in living at court."

"Why is that?" She inquired scintillatingly.

"She, Lady Barbara hasn't made her feelings on the matter known to me. I suppose her attentions have been focused elsewhere as of late... our recent marriage and my- our- son, Richard. I, erm... hmm," Hornblower finished awkwardly toying with his sleeve beneath the table uncomfortably.

"Oh? A fine lady, no doubt."

"None."

Hornblower now felt a little unease at the conversation's turn. Lady Furse broke the tension with a charming, dainty laugh and well-practiced smile for their audience. Hornblower followed her lead and also gave a small smile to no one in particular, forced and uneasy though it was. She turned her focus back to the uncomfortable captain.

"I have a need for fine ladies at court," she continued letting her eyes flash away from Hornblower's to the rest of her table mates and back to Hornblower again. "Would she be adverse to joining me at court?"

Hornblower tried to stammer out a reply. This last question had knocked him off his feet. _'If Barbara were to go to court, who would take care of Richard? There's no way I could take him with me out to sea. Would he go to court too? Be raised by servants? Come out refined, and dainty, scheming and underhanded like these ladies- and - dare I say it? Like Barbara is?'_

His guests took note of his flustered reaction as they watched forgetting to feign polite interest. Hornblower managed to force out a reply.

"She's thoroughly assiduous in attending to the estate's affairs. It's been a lifetime since she's been at court."

He glanced up at her and realized he had been looking down at the table which he was reflexively gripping in order to gather his thoughts.

"Still..." she insisted, "that can be remedied. One might think it was the best thing for the lady; getting back into court life."

Out of proper arguments, he conceded the point.

"I shall... write to her and ask her what she thinks," he nodded to Lady Furse.

She smiled winningly, "Thank you, Captain. I should like to improve the general character at court."

Taken aback by her sudden, kindly interest, Hornblower smiled at the Lady and nodded conclusively once more.

_'But why am I so unsure?' _he wondered as the ambient conversations picked up and carried on without him. _'Maybe it's because I didn't think Lady Furse would be one for makin such plans. Maybe it's the fact that I'm not entirely confident I want either her or Richard in the presence of Lady Furse, let alone the entire English court.'_

Dinner carried on in a slightly hazy and distant manner for Hornblower. At the end, once again, they all bid each other farewell and went on to their respective duties. Hornblower went above deck to survey. As he emerged, he wrapped his oilskin closer around himself. Looking to the heavens, he assessed the weather. Low-hanging scuds foretold of squally weather. The weather would get worse as they traveled northward. Hornblower gave an involuntary shudder at the thought.

{{{{}}}}

Hornblower awoke suddenly by a demanding knock at his cabin door. He scrambled out of his wood-framed hammock and took the two steps spatially required to reach the thin door. Alden briefly touched the brim of his bicorne in the required salute.

"What is it, Geoffrey?"

"Sir, Bevins has requested your attentions above deck. It seems the storm isn't waiting for the morning."Alden replied concisely.

"Thank you, I'll be up presently."

Adlen turned purposefully and hurried off to continue to ready the ship and it's company for the coming tempest. Hornblower willed the drowsiness from his body while he rapidly dressed. His fingers moved sluggishly with the cold and his legs and arms felt like weights from his short-lived sleep. He hopped about on one leg trying to pull his trousers over his long-johns as the ship tossed about roughly from the increasingly angry waves and violent winds.

Above deck, all tiredness quickly vanished with the sudden exposure to the tempestuous environment. Upon seeing the Captain emerge, Bevins hurried over to the bridge deck and began to fill him in on the weather situation.

"Winds changed- began to pick up after the mid-watch started. We haven't got much time. It looks..." A spray of sea water assaulted the two officers as a wave bounced off the side of the hull. Bevins started again, "We need to lighten the ship's load! She's riding too low in the water."

The ship lurched to the side. The experienced officers combatted the pitch by leaning harder on the opposite leg. A young marine cautiously trying to make his way below deck was taken by surprise and fell to the deck. The force of the pitch pulled him rolling towards the main rail with dangerous speed. The Spyridon's equilibrium righted itself just in time to slow the rolling boy slightly before he hit the railing. Hornblower made his way to the young man as he tried to get on his feet, clearly dazed. Bevins called to a deck hand to drop what he was doing and help the marine below. The captain lifted the young man by the shoulders. He had sustained a blow to the head and blood was falling from his hair into his brow. Stanley Codling, a deck hand, relieved Hornblower of the stunned marine and proceeded with him to the sick bay. Bevins readdressed the captain once more.

"We need to loose any weight we can! Shakes, cargo, anything!"

"I'll see to it Bevins. "

Lieutenant Daley poked his head out of the cabin. "Sir!?"

"Daley, see that the men have tied down the cannons properly. Bevins you take care of the weather deck. I'm going below to see to our excess weight."

"Sir!"

{{{{}}}}

Hornblower walked around below, bumping into walls and issuing orders.

"Messing! Townsend! Take these shakes and throw them overboard." He gestured to the pieces of barrel and casks that had been broken down after their use had been fulfilled, to save space. There wasn't much of it seeing as how they'd not even been at sea for a fortnight. The two hands began to gather the pieces. Hornblower turned and began to head to the weather deck. Hat under his arm he tried to make his way through the cramped passages. Crew members faithfully touched their index fingers to their brows as they scurried along carrying out their own orders. Hornblower nodded and continued to delegate tasks to the men. Alden stuck his head through a connecting passage as he saw the captain pass.

"Captain!"

He joined Hornblower as the walked.

"Captain, every thing's been tied down and secured on the decks and t'ween decks."

"Good, Alden. See to the wells, would you. Make sure they're in working order."

"Sir."

Alden turned at the next junction and headed off to the wells. Hornblower climbed and turned and weaved his way through the Spyridon's wooden labyrinth. He passed a room full of anxious marines and deckhands sitting like schoolchildren crouched on the floor, waiting for orders or reprieve. One green-faced marine threw up into his threadbare hat. A few of the others looked as if they were on the brink of doing just the same. The captain continued on, passing more storage cabins. An aging seaman named Codling was just exiting one of the rooms carrying a tangle of ropes. Noticing the captain, a look of relief passed over his face.

"Oh thank ye, Captin'! I was just about ta come lookin' fer yeh meself! How am I ter get all these blasted bits of luggage tied down?"

"I don't know Codling. Ask one of the other... Luggage?"

Hornblower stopped walking and backtracked to the room from which the gnarled seaman had emerged. Large trunks littered the room haphazardly. On them the gold-lettered initials A.M.F. stood out like beacons in the dark.

"Codling, I've got a new job for you."

{{{{}}}}

"Yes, marm! Orders of the' Captin', yeh see. Yeh've got ta choose which one yeh wan', see? All the res' are going out ta sea!"

Lady Furse looked mortified on many different fronts. The whole situation seemed completely improper and unfair. She didn't know which part of this disturbed her the most. The ingrate seaman standing hunched over in her rooms, his telling her that the Captain had ordered the immediate disposal of her property, or the deadly storm that raged outside.

Trying to keep herself composed, she inquired, "The Captain? Captain Hornblower ordered this? You're sure?"

Codling nodded his head pleasantly glad the girl was understanding.

Her ladies, also distressed, comforted the Lady and showed looks of concern and fear. One fanned herself in the corner.

"This can't be true! I want to talk to the Captain at once!" She demanded at a now slightly frightened Codling.

"But, yeh see..." he tried to reason with the pretty young lady. She reminded him of his first daughter.

"Don't speak to me. Get out and get me the Captain... Now."

Codling stood there unsure of what to say. He was tired and his old bones hurt. He didn't see too well and this was to be his last year in the service. And why was this sweet young thing being so mean?

"Are you stupid? Go."

He stood up as straight as his crooked back would let him.

"Marm, if yer want ta see the Captin', yeh best make yer own way up to meet 'im." And with that he turned around and, proud as he could, ambled out the door.

Lady Furse fumed at the old man's brashness.

"Lydia, were going above deck. Get my cover."

{{{{}}}}

Hornblower stood at the top of the ladder watching as the crew brought up the bulky luggage piece by piece. The wind carried the sea water with it and every breath felt stingy and salty.

The men had already thrown two trunks overboard and were about to do the same to a third when an authoritative voice yelled, "Stop that! Stop that right now!"

The two men halted, each clutching an end of the weighty trunk. Hornblower turned to the source. Lady Furse was walking with great difficulty towards them. Wind buffeted her and her lady around like leaves on a tree.

"Drop it! Now!"

Unsure of what to do, the two crew members began to slowly set it down.

"What do you think you're doing, Captain Hornblower!? These are my things! Some of them gifts from the King himself. I demand you put them back!"

"I'm sorry, madame, but the ship is riding too low. We can't afford to keep any excess weight. It's a danger if we keep them. Now I must ask that you go back inside. It's too dangerous out here for your Ladyship."

"The King shall hear of this. This is outrag-!"

A strong blast of wind carried the last of her word off into the night. The Captain made a face that politely suggested he couldn't understand her last statement and if she would just care to repeat it. She knew sarcasm when she saw it. He was trying to show her just how ridiculous court procedure and manner were out here. Barely able to stand straight, and fighting with her hair which was wildly whipping around her face, the Lady decided to acquiesce.

"Fine, but I'm keeping that one!" She pointed to a particularly garish trunk.

Hornblower made a face of mock appeasement and gratitude, and bowed slightly to the Lady. She turned from him roughly, gathering her skirts and made her way back into the quarterdeck, Lydia trailing along behind.

Turning from her retreated figure, Hornblower nodded to the two men standing confused beside the trunk to continue with it's disposal. When they had finished, they shook out their hands and made for the other trunks. As they passed by Hornblower, he stopped them, "In the future, men, it is _my_ orders that you follow! On this ship, the Lady is just a passenger."

They nodded in compliance. "Aye, Aye, Sir!"

"Wilkes, get that other trunk below! Tie it down below!" He shouted to the rest of the men, "All the rest go overboard! Codling, why don't you go see to it that the ladies are taken care of. I'm putting you in charge of them."

{{{{}}}}

The storm continued to worsen. Waves crashed into the side and traveled up the hull to the deck above, sending the few deck hands still working slipping and sliding as they tried to get the sails retracted and tied down. Hornblower had decreed that, only the most able-bodied were to help in such a storm.

_'I don't need to lose any more good men.' _he reasoned as he monitored the work clutching to a beam.

The whole ship swayed to one side and everyone attempted to hold on. Hornblower heard shouts from the men and a loud _snap_ from above. His eyes followed the sound. He watched in horror as one of the main sail's bindings came loose and the entire sail began to deploy. The rope that had previously bound it was carried by the wind and caught on the spar below. The canvas caught the wind and was pulled drum-tight. Now with a sail to harness the wind, the ship was jerked forward. The wind carried them quickly ahead and pushed the ship roughly around the ferocious waters.

Hornblower shouted to Bevins, "We need to get that sail down!"

Bevins, already knowing his duties, shouted to the midshipman Emmet, "Emmet! Come here!"

The young man of seventeen, pushed against the wind and against physics to get to him. "Sir!?"

Seeing this, Hornblower rushed over. "No Bevins! It's too dangerous!"

"We have to get that sail down!"

"I know. I'm going!"

"Sir, you can't do that! You're Captain!"

Hornblower ripped off his jacket and proceeded to pin his sleeves back.

"Horatio, Damn it! You can't go."

"Listen to me Thomas!" Hornblower looked at the windblown midshipman stoically awaiting orders. "I _am _the Captain! This is my ship and I'll do what I must to protect itand the people onboard!"

"I know, but _you_ listen to _me_! The King has ordered _you _to protect his niece and help the Czar! You have to make it to Russia! You're too big to make it up the mast! You'll be blown straight off... Damn it, and then we'll be in the same problem only with less time! We could all die waiting for you! Emmet is smaller- he can make it!"

The HMS Spyridon lurched dangerously to one side and a fresh assault of sea spray washed the three of them.

Hornblower looked at the midshipman as he stumbled against the abrasive wind. He grabbed the midshipman by the shoulders to steady him and let him know how serious this was, "Blaise! Blaise! Listen to me! I am going to ask you to do something very dangerous!"

The young man listened to the Captain with a blank face. He stared intensely at the Captain, listening.

"We need to bring the sail down! It's going to break the mast and pull us down... Can you make it up the mast? Can you bring it down safely?"

The young man barely waited to reply, "Yes, Captain! I'll make it!"

Hornblower nodded and released him.

Bevins nodded at the boy and shouted to the aftdeck, "Styles! Bring me a knife!"

They tied a rope to Emmet's waist. One last look before the young man began his ascent. Emmet put his foot on the netting. For the first fifteen feet, he had relatively little trouble climbing. Then the ship gave a lurch. Emmet didn't pause. He pulled himself away from the leaning side with the net. Everyone on deck watched he climbed higher and higher on the netting wrapped around the mast. The ship's rocking made it hard for him to keep his footing and hold onto handholds. One bad jerk and Emmet would be dangling upside down fifty feet up. Emmet reached the top of the smaller sails, where the netting met the mast. Now he had to climb the actual mast. As if willed by furious gods, the winds began to pick up and a surge from under the surface of the water sent the ship lurching wildly to the starboard side. All the unsuspecting men watching Emmet were thrown off balance and sent sprawling.

For a millisecond Hornblower heard the faint zipping sound of rope rubbing against itself. A shadowy figure fell to the deck from the sky with a sickening thud. The Spyridon recovered and Hornblower quickly rushed to the landing place. There, lying on the planks of the deck, was a thick rope pulley. Relief flooded Hornblower as he looked to the skies for signs of Emmet's welfare. Unable to see clearly directly upwards, Hornblower stumbled to the poop deck so he could look at the mast in full. The other men caught site of the boy at the same time as Hornblower let out collective gasps and shouts. He was clinging to the starboard side of the bare mast for sweet life. The blow had swung him around to the side.

_'My God, that boy must have the arms of a Titan or amazing luck,' _he reckoned in dumbfounded awe. Hornblower simultaneously thanked and cursed the gods for putting Emmet there.

Then the boy began to climb again. The deck hands shouted their amazement and well wishes. Another gust of wind brought them back to the morbidity of the situation. Emmet paused to let the harsh squall pass, then kept going. Higher and higher he climbed till he was barely visible.

From atop the mast Emmet willed himself to not look down. If the ship rocked far enough to one side, he would be hanging directly over the sea water. His arms ached from the strain of not only holding on, but having to pull his own weight upwards.

_'The only thing worse than just climbing, is having to start and stop like this.'_ He gritted his teeth together and shut his eyes with the effort of hoisting himself up another foot.

The wind was brutal and vicious this high up and Emmet could hear the wood of the ship groaning in pain. Worse than that was the tangled sail three or four feet away from him that would whip dangerously around if the wind quickly changed direction. Somehow when he reached up, his hand hit the hard wood of the top of the sail. He looked up. By the grace of Neptune, he had reached the top. His guts told him that he wasn't safe enough to feel relief, so he somberly got on with his duties. He pulled himself on top of the horizontal wooden beam and quickly wrapped his arms and legs around it as the ship teetered to the port side. As the ship righted herself, he raised his head to assess how to go about releasing the sail.

Rain fell on his back in freezing droplets. He began sawing away at the rope that bound the top of the sail. It was taking too long; the rope was too thick. The wind was driving the ship forward and the uneven distribution of the stress on the mast would tear it down. If even entire mast didn't go down, in this weather, it would take the wobbling ship with it. Emmet felt tears coming from his eyes. He had never been this scared in his life. He was crying. Momentarily the wind and the rain lulled. Emmet's survival instincts surged and he began to crawl to the outside end of the beam, knife in mouth. There was no mast to protect him here. He came to a stop two feet from the very end. The ship rocked backwards instantaneously and Emmet was slung around to the underside of the beam. Cries of terror and distress from below rose up and briefly filled Emmet's ears before vanishing with the screeching winds.

Rain assailed his face. He tightened his grip on the beam and buried his face in his dirty sleeve. Soaked as it was, it dried his face somewhat and he leaned back to look at the sail. He needed to work fast. If the sail changed direction, he would be ripped from the beam. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he let go of the beam with his right hand and took the sharpened knife from his mouth. He plunged it into the sail and began to cut towards the mast. The tired canvas easily ripped and the violent winds helped him separate the top hem of the sail with the field. Quickly he worked his way back to the mast cutting and tearing as he edged his way along the beam. Finally, his feet hit the mast and the entire sail was split and wrenched forward.

Emmet grabbed the mast with his legs and shimmied the rest of his body to meet it. Now the cries he heard belayed relief and joy. He smiled to himself as he cried, clinging to the mast. By the time he lowered himself to halfway point on the mast his tears of relief wear masked in rain. By the time he reached the bottom of the mast, he was laughing.

Hornblower watched as the midshipman came laughing down the netting and into the arms and coats of the overjoyed and ecstatic seamen. One man ruffled his hair and another gave him a hearty slap on the back which made his legs give out. But there was no way the men would let Emmet hit the deck. They ushered his exhausted body into their arms and carried him below deck to the sick bay.

The sail lay twitching on the deck. A gale of rain-filled wind from behind the captain reminded him he had removed his jackets. He made his way off of the quarterdeck and onto the weather deck to look for his jacket and oilskin. The deck hands were removing the sail and attending to their other duties. The storm still raged, but they had suffered the worst of it. Lieutenants Daley and Lyford emerged to be of service.

"Lyford! What news from below?"

"Sir, they've taken Emmet to the sick bay! That marine that fell earlier is awake and the Doc has instructed him not to sleep for twenty-four hours!" Lyford shouted over the winds.

"Good, good. How're the pumps doing? How much water have we taken on?"

"I'll find out now, Sir!" He saluted and headed below deck.

"Daley, help me find my coats, would you? They seem to have blown away."

"Blown away, Sir?"

"Yes, blown away."

Daley gave him a look of playful admonishment. "Aye, aye, Sir."

They moved around deck cautiously checking the railing and various places they could've been tangled up in. The storm was beginning to subside. Daley walked up to the captain.

"Sir, I'd no luck. You?"

"None, whatsoever." he admitted disappointedly.

"Maybe they went over the side when the ship pitched."

"Probably. No matter. I have more."

"Sir?"

"What, Daley?"

"Where's Bevins?"

{{{{}}}}

"Every cabin's been searched, Captain."

"Well, search them again. I want him found, damn it!"

"Aye, Aye, Captain." Lieutenant Lyford left Hornblower's cabin with Bryson following behind.

Hornblower sat at his make-shift table-desk, somberly drying off.

Alden piped up from the chair opposite. "You're not going to find him, Horatio."

Hornblower looked up at him angrily. "Are you saying that because you know, or because you don't want him found?" he questioned foully.

Alden raised his face from his hand, which he had been resting it in, to stare silently at the captain. His eyes, filled with unjust hurt, demanded atonement for the biting comment. Hornblower realized his impetuousness and deflated.

"I'm sorry, Geoffrey. I don't know what I'm saying. Bevins can't be gone, that's all. I was just talking to him the other day about his beautiful family waiting back at Portsmouth for him. He's getting his own ship soon; a frigate."

"You've seen the sea take many men, Horatio. Why should this be any more difficult to accept? You know what this life entails."

Hornblower sat in silence for awhile. Alden got up.

"I'll let you rest, friend. You need it."

Hornblower nodded his compliance. Alden left. For a while, Hornblower sat deep in brooding concentration; collecting his thoughts.

The bell for the end of the morning watch and the beginning of the fore-noon watch sounded. Hornblower slowly raised himself from his chair and made his way above deck. The men watched him apprehensively. Hornblower found Lyford on deck.

"Lyford,"

He saluted, "Sir?"

"Stop looking for Bevins. Call a mass for noon."

"Sir."

"And... have Bryson find a suitable passage for the ceremony."

"Sir."

Lyford watched as the worn out Captain turned grimly and headed below for rest.

{{{{}}}}


	4. Advantageous Encounters

"Well, basically, we've been blown farther North than we would have been before the storm. We'll be reaching the strait of Skagerrak very soon." Alden leaned back in his dinner seat.

Dinner was finished and the two boy deckhands that Hornblower had granted to Styles as galley-help, were removing the dirty plates. Styles was bringing out dessert; a questionable-looking mousse. The men didn't notice the lackluster appearance of dessert. The women, however, eyed theirs with dread. Styles, none-the-wiser, went about his business and winked at the officers behind the Ladies' backs before disappearing off to the mess galley.

"Skagerrak? Where is that?" Lydia asked turning her attention away from dessert politely.

"It's on the coast of Scandinavia. We have to sail around the tip of Scandinavia and past Sweden before we reach the Baltic Sea," Hollister explained pragmatically.

Hornblower looked at the faces around him, thinking on who these people were. Daley sat smiling in his good-natured way; still very young but wise when he needed to be. Alden sat with one arm slooped along the back of his chair and the other protruding out to the table where his hand played with the base of his wine glass. He was staring into the ruby liquid pensively; aged beyond his years tonight. Lyford, Emmet, and Bryson were missing... and one other familiar face.

_'Stop it, man. Bevins is gone. There's no use dredging bad memories up. He would have wanted me to be unsentimental and practical.'_

He continued to study his dinner guests. Hollister had the baring of a noble. Despite his stature of six feet, he was able to hold himself in a regal manner inside the Spyridon's more cramped quarters. An intelligent and caring face and a good head on his shoulders; the man was to be greatly trusted and adored by the men. His junior officer, Morris, was considered to be the most handsome on the ship. Hornblower didn't know him well, but he seemed respectable enough.

'_A little cocky maybe with the ladies, but who could expect him to be otherwise?' _Hornblower mused to himself as he watched the young marine flirt with the ladies who were now listening to his explanation of the coming voyage.

Hornblower looked at the ladies. The one named Lydia sat across the table from Morris and was giggling at something hilarious the marine had said. Her quiet friend, '_Mary, I think her name is,' _was hiding her happy laugh behind her fan, trying hard to keep a ladylike and dainty state, as Morris leaned towards her and dazzled her with his dashing smile. The force of her laugh made her jiggle up and down. Mary blushed due to her inability to stop the mirth flowing from her mouth. She was plumper than the other ladies, not in an unseemly way, but it made her a little more self-conscious than her thinner counterparts.

The Lady Furse sat listening with a charming smile on her face, transfixed on the storyteller. She let out a delicate laugh and turned to look at her other dinner guests, her eyes catching Hornblower's before she quickly looked away. Hornblower looked away as well and rejoined the dinner conversation.

"We shall need to stop in Højen to resupply before we turn South." he interjected.

Hollister agreed with the Captain, and Alden wryly suggested that it would do the Ladies some good to go ashore. They wholeheartedly concurred.

Lady Furse tapped her wine glass with her unused dessert fork and the cabin fell silent; all eyes turned to her. She stood gracefully raising her goblet and turned to Alden. "To you Mr. Alden, for your recent promotion to First Mate. And you Mr. Daley on your promotion from Lieutenant Junior-Grade to First Lieutenant. May you both do your new rankings justice, and and soon be promoted again!"

Hollister rapped his knuckles on the table, "Here, here." The others copied.

Alden and Daley nodded at the lady and at the others.

Alden raised his own glass and stood, "And here's to a brave and decent man we lost this morning, and said good bye to this afternoon. Thomas Bevins was a born seaman and a great leader," he looked out the aft window to the sea, "Tommy, we will miss you."

Hornblower and the others stood up as well and raised their glasses in salute. "To Tommy."

{{{{}}}}

The meal disbanded soon and the company once again wished each other good night. As the individuals dispersed, Lady Furse quickly and quietly leaned into Lydia's ear. Hornblower watched from across the room as her mouth formed silent words. Lydia gave a nod as she whispered, not looking at her ladyship, and then promptly smiled and rushed out the cabin door, catching up with Morris, whose arm she grabbed familiarly.

"A rough sort of day," Alden said suddenly.

Hornblower's head pivoted to look at the new First Mate.

"One that makes you reevaluate your choices, your perspectives."

"Indeed," Hornblower replied gaging Alden's disposition.

Alden patted the captain on the shoulder and gave him an empathetic smile before starting for the door.

"Alden..."

The first mate stopped and turned back, "Sir?"

"What happened today, doesn't mean you don't deserve the promotion. You're the only sailor on this ship I trust enough for the job. Bevins would have wanted you to fill his place."

"Thank you, Captain. I hope don't disappoint him." Alden went on his way into the night. Hornblower began to follow.

"Captain?" Lady Furse stood quietly to the side.

"Yes, Lady Furse?"

"Please don't call me Furse. My name is Anne."

Hornblower smiled, "Lady Anne."

"Thank you. I feel so dreadfully old when I hear people call me that."

Hornblower felt a little uncomfortable alone in the room with her. She seemed nice enough right now, but he wasn't sure what she was up to.

_'Gods! Why am I so wary of the Lady? Why can't I just let her be nice.'_

"I'm sure no one would ever think of you as "old" Lady Anne."

She walked a little closer to him. "I'm glad to hear you think so, Captain. I am sorry for the fuss I caused earlier. I am not used to sea life, I suppose."

"Of course, Lady. Hopefully, we can resupply your things at Port Højen."

"That would be most appreciated by my Ladies and I." She touched his forearm with her flawless, pale hand. Her touch sent shivers deep inside of him. He couldn't help staring back into her vibrant, light blue eyes.

One of the boys who had been serving them earlier walked in and stopped in the doorway. Clearly he had not suspected there would be people still in the cabin. He looked slightly embarrassed at having interrupted his commanding officer while he spoke to a proper Lady of the court. He wiped away the trail of snot running from his reddend nose with his sleeve in a quick motion and headed right back out the door he had just entered. Hornblower stepped back from the Lady as politely as he could and bowed to her.

"If there's nothing else you need tonight, I shall leave you to your rest."

She contemplated for a moment while her calculating eyes studied his face. He could almost see the cogs and wheels turning in her head as she thought about something more serious than his simple question. She seemed to reach a decision.

"No." She looked down from his face. "No, that should be all. Thank you, Captain."

Hornblower nodded, "Good night, then," and slowly backed away before turning and heading for the weather deck.

Out on the weather deck, Hornblower rubbed his face with his hands.

_'That was unreal. She was nice. She made me feel... Maybe I was too quick to judge the Lady. Still... why does it feel like I need to be cautious around her? Of course I need to be cautious around her! She's the King's niece.' _He paced a little in the chilly night air before making his way decidedly towards sick bay to visit Emmet and that other boy.

From the bright cabin, Lady Anne watched the Captain's shadowy figure move about in the dark blue curtain of night before disappearing below deck. She stood unmoving in the suddenly empty room. The silence pounded in her ears and she reached down and plucked a half-filled glass off of the table and drank from it, emptying the bell. She replaced the goblet and made her way quietly over to the chair behind the desk. Leaning back, she continued to brood deeply. Styles and his deck hands bustled into the cabin.

Upon seeing the Lady, Styles begged pardon. "I'll come back when yer less..." he reached for an appropriate word, "busy."

Lady Furse waived a disdainful hand at him. "Get on with it, sir." Then went back to her thoughts.

Styles unsurely nodded and silently nudged the boys into action. They cleaned the dining table quickly. Styles almost asked, "_Oi, who didn't eat their mousse?"_ before deciding better of it. The table cleared, he ushered the boys out of the cabin and ungracefully bowed to the lady, before making an exit himself. Lady Furse ignored him and waited, her face blank.

She heard urgent whispers and the sound of boots approaching. Her eyes transformed from cold, opaque orbs as a look of excited, pleasure washed across her angelic features. She looked up in time to see a tall, handsome figure enter the doorway. She got up from the desk and went towards the young marine slowly. He bowed to her charmingly and she gave him a luxurious smile.

"My Lady."

"Mister Morris."

She stood right in front of him, staring alluringly into his sparkling eyes. Without looking away she addressed her Lady, who was standing in the doorway, waiting for more orders.

"Thank you, Lydia. That shall be all for now."

Lydia quietly closed her Lady's cabin door from the outside and wrapped her shawl more tightly about her small frame and prepared to stand watch. Mary soon joined her quietly and together they sat and watched the stars wheel overhead.

{{{{}}}}

Emmet awoke to the sound of the Captain's voice quietly talking with the ship's two most trusted medics; Doc Hassett and Cyril Greene, polar opposites. Doc Hassett, wasn't a certified doctor and never had been. He drank too much, had greasy-grey hair, and smelled of pipe tobacco, but he had been bestowed the endearing nickname by all the seamen he had treated over his thirty-two years of service. Curt and pithy, he was not what one would imagine when thinking of a healer. But the man knew his stuff, and was known for his successful organic remedies.

Cyril Greene, however, was a different tale. Raised in a fastidiously academic environment by his father who worked as a librarian in Scotland, he grew up cherishing knowledge and the questions it raised. He was a gentle man, who avoided drink and could be found most any time of day or night squinting at a dusty, archaic book or occupying himself with some kind of an experiment. The men were glad to have him for his extensive knowledge and experience around the surgery table.

The two got on somewhat peacefully and, although loathe to admit it, they were actually quite fond of each other.

The Captain's back was to Emmet as he conversed with the two healers. Emmet tried to use his arms to prop himself up so he could salute the Captain. Doc noticed the pathetic movement behind the Captain and leaned on his stool to see what the boy was up to.

"Now stop that! You don't want to go strainin' yer arms!"

The Captain turned around to face the young man. "Yes, especially not on my account, Emmet."

Doc pushed the midshipman back down into the bed. Emmet's arms had been shaking with the effort of lifting himself.

"I owe you. Every man on board owes their life to you today." He took the stool by the boy's wood-framed hammock. "What you did was very brave."

"Thank you, Sir."

"We shall have to find a way to reward you."

"Please, Sir, if you don't mind, I'd prefer no special treatment."

Hornblower looked at the young man lying in the hammock, his arms mummified with poultice and bandages.

"Why is that, Emmet?"

"It's just that... the other midshipmen... they..."

Doc impatiently prodded, "They what, Boy? Spit it out. He hasn't got all night."

Hornblower shook his head at Doc who quieted, then he looked back to Emmet, "They treat you more harshly if you're favored. Is that right?"

Emmet nodded, embarrassed, and wished he hadn't said anything.

Hornblower set his hat down on the rudimentary plank shelf nailed to the wall perpendicular to the hammock. "From personal experience, I know how rough it can be as a midshipman. I myself had to make some hard decisions involving my contemporaries as a young man. But you've got to realize, and quickly, that it doesn't matter what they think of you or how they treat you, as long as you're working towards what you want. Do you want to be Captain someday?"

Emmet nodded solemnly.

"Then you can't let the actions and opinions of others dictate how you accomplish your goals. Do you think Admiral Nelson worries about what I think of him?"

Doc, who was listening to the conversation, shook his head avidly and chimed in bluntly, "I doubt he's ever heard of _you_-"

The three of them turned to look at the fidgety Doc, who wondered why they were all staring at him suddenly. Hornblower turned back to the midshipman and Greene made an exasperated, silent shushing face at the awkward little man, who, scolded, became quiet.

Hornblower continued, "You must be strong and independent to command your own ship. A Captain leads his men. He is not lead by them. You must not give your enemies any sign of weakness."

"I understand, Captain. I won't let it alter my judgement again."

"Good, I should think so. Now let's hear about those arms."

{{{{}}}}

Lydia and Mary jumped as the door to their Lady's cabin swung open. Morris stepped out and took a deeper breath of the fresh, night air before readjusting his coat. He turned back to the door and closed it happily. The two Ladies jumped up off of the boxes they had been sitting on.

"Mister Morris, you really should be more subtle. We're right next to the rest of the officers' cabins! This is a matter of great delicacy," Lydia reprimanded quietly.

He cheekily leaned forward towards her and breathed in her ear, "Forgive me, my sweet. You must understand my mood."

Lydia blushed and shyly looked away. He turned to aim his charms at Mary, who also blushed and turned her head, but had a worried look to her face. He touched her cheek playfully.

"Well!" he said, walking past the two Ladies and stuffing his arms under his jacket. "I'm off the the berth deck before the bosses notice I'm gone. Sweet dreams, Ladies."

Mary stopped him, "Remember, Morris. Not a word. If you tell anyone about this, you put her Ladyship at danger."

Morris began to proceed down the hatchet, "Never in a million years, my Lady. Good night." And disappeared.

The two girls shared a look of exasperation and rolled their eyes before heading into the toasty cabin. Lady Anne was already in her framed hammock with the covers pulled over her shoulders and her back to the light.

Codling leaned back into the crow's nest, wishing he had better eyesight. His hearing was impeccable, though.

{{{{}}}}

"Drop anchor!"

"Let her down easy, lads!"

The men let the anchor loose. Hornblower shouted an assortment of orders to the men as the docked in the sea-side town of Højen. The men, eager to be done with duties, hustled to get the ship anchored.

The young Ladies watched the progress from a designated innocuous spot on the poop deck. Lydia and Mary bounced slightly at the sight of land and Lady Furse smiled happily. Her eyes scanned the activities along the port and then the ones aboard the ship. She caught sight of Morris as he climbed up to the poop deck and made his way to Hollister, who was discussing something on a sheet of parchment with Alden. He handed his superior officer another slip of parchment and turned around to head to the portion of the weather deck where the other marines stood. As he walked to the stairs, he winked at the Lady who smiled coquettishly before tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear and averted her pale eyes. Just at that moment, Codling's voice boomed into her ear on the opposite side.

"The Captin' says yeh Ladies are allowed ta go ashore, soon as everythin's a-ready!"

She turned slowly and loathsomely to the decrepit old man. He quavered the tiniest bit.

"Thank you, Codling. You're service is of the highest importance to me."

Not sure if she was being sincere or not, he just bobbed his head once hesitantly and backed away. Lady Furse returned her attentions to the port. Lydia and Mary shared another meaningful look.

Lydia cautiously interjected, "The man is only trying to be of service, Anne. It might be advantageous to have him in our good humor."

Lady Furse neglected to turn around.

"Why do I keep you around, Lydia, when all you ever seen to do is undermine me?"

Lydia looked to Mary, who shook her head quietly. Lydia, upset, closed her mouth and pretended to enjoy the view.

"Mary?"

Mary looked at the back of Lady Furse's head, with surprise quickly followed by eagerness. "Yes, Milady?"

I want you to find a nice inn to have dinner at tonight. I'm trusting you. You always do a good job."

"Yes, Milady, of course." She turned away from a bewildered and concerned Lydia and beamed ecstatically to herself. _'Lady Anne favors me!' _

{{{{}}}}

"We need another sail, as back up. Can you tell him that?" Hornblower asked Daley.

"I'll try," the lieutenant said doubtfully.

He turned to the Højen native and used the smallest English words he could think of combined with an shoddy performance of charades to get his meaning across. The Scandinavian seaman eventually seemed to get Daley's drift and nodded, uttering what sounded like a positive affirmation of a nearby sailmaker. Hornblower let the comical pair work out the details and directions.

Hollister was drilling with his men in an empty area of the port. The group soon finished and was granted permission to explore the town. Hollister walked over to where the Captain stood waiting on Alden and Daley to purchase the necessary. Hornblower watched as the young colonel commandant made his way over. He noticed a pair of Scandinavian girls' heads turn and follow Hollister as he walked past them. The young maidens giggled and said something in gibberish to each other, blushing all the while.

_'Farmers' daughters, from the looks of it,' _he decided, eyeing their rough clothing and dirt-ridden skin.

Hollister reached Hornblower looking very business-oriented.

"I've granted my marines permission to explore the town. I figured, with the dinner Lady Furse has planned ashore and all, they would get too rowdy on the ship waiting, sooo…." He noted the Captain's wandering attention, "I've decided to allow a mutiny, and we've all decided here is as good a place as any to abandon you. What do you think?"

The Captain nodded absent-mindedly as he watched the sniggering girls. "Yes, sounds fine."

"It's settled then. Højen it is." Hollister waited patiently for the Captain to come to his senses. When it seemed as though the Captain would need more prompting, Hollister looked at the sun and declared matter-of-factly, "You're not listening to me, are you Horatio?"

Hornblower ignored him and instead grabbed his arm and rotated so that he stood facing the crowded intersection. "Hollister, when are you married?"

The younger officer looked at the Captain confusedly.

"I'm not betrothed, why?"

"Why don't you terrorize all these girls mindlessly like all the other men when they get to shore?"

Hollister took in the blushing girls and the soldiers all hopefully vying for their attention. His noble features transformed as he threw his head back and laughed.

"Why don't you?"

"Well, I'm married. That's different. But you, you've got the freedom to do as you like."

"I suppose, it's my upbringing. Father was always on about nobility and pride, and Mother always taught me to be a gentleman."

Hornblower looked at him, "Yes, well, just because you're brought up at court doesn't mean you've got the nobility to match. In fact, most of the time, it seems to be the people at court with questionable morals."

"Is this about bringing your family to court, Hornblower?" Hollister asked forthrightly.

Hornblower stopped his examination of the crowd and turned to Hollister. He was watching Hornblower with intelligent eyes, but kept his facial features passive so as not to make the Captain feel dissected.

"I suppose it is," he admitted to Hollister, who politely nodded in understanding.

"You're wondering what it's like growing up at court. Being raised by and taught the ways of court life."

This time it was Hornblower who nodded.

"It is a dangerous and hollow place sometimes, Horatio. I'm only halfway decent because of my parents. They taught me to live by a standard higher than that of an English court, and I have kept that standard with me so far in life. I can imagine it's similar to the standard you will raise your son to live by, no matter where he is brought up."

Hornblower looked at the stoic young officer and bowed respectfully to him. Hollister bowed back to Hornblower in mutual respect. They continued to walk down the wharf.

Hornblower, slightly at odds, asked one last questions as they strolled, "Am I that transparent?"

Hollister gave a slight smile, "No, Captain. I noticed your reluctance, before, at dinner, when Lady Furse asked you to write Lady Barbara."

Hornblower gave a silent '_ah_' and good-naturedly suggested, "You, sir, should have been a great scientist."

Hollister gave an elegant guffaw, if ever there were such a thing, and replied, "What? And disappoint my father? It'd make my mother a happy woman though."

{{{{}}}}

Emmet sat at the center of the diner table, in the improvised seat of honor. His tried to eat with as much grace as he could manage with his bandaged arms. Still, he looked quite happy to be eating something other than Style's cooking. The rest of the dinner guests seemed to be of similar mind. The ones closest to him patted him on the back and everyone shared stories and laughed with the youth the whole evening. Despite the ship's recent loss, everyone seemed to be in good spirits, even the Captain. Many toasts were made throughout the night; to "Emmet", to "the Spyridon", and, due to it being Wednesday, "to ourselves, because no one else is likely to bother!"

Tonight Lady Furse sat next to the Captain. Her presence discomforted him, despite the generally joyful attitude. His smiles would end quickly every time he remembered her proximity. She, however, did not seem to feel uneasy at all. The Lady laughed and talked, just like every other night.

During a lull in the conversation, complements of dessert's arrival, she attempted to make light conversation with the Captain. He humored her for the most part. Hornblower was not enamored of chit-chat. After a particularly short answer to one of her more lengthy questions, the garrulous Lady fell into an annoyed silence. It was obvious to her that the Captain was disinterested in her.

Her silence, though, seemed to disturb Hornblower more than her talking. He looked to her. She was crossly eating her tort.

"Lady Furse?"

She set her fork down but continued to chew and turned to him with an icy stare.

"Have I done something to upset you?"

"Why on Earth would you think that?"

_'A loaded question.'_

Her words were innocent enough, but their meaning was quite clear.

He shifted uncomfortably.

She went back to her tort.

Wanting to make things better, he hesitantly leaned towards her and whispered lowly, "I… do not have the easiest time of producing decent dinner conversation, Madam. Eloquence is not a gift I posses. Forgive me if I have made you feel a less than adequate dinner guest. You are not."

He leaned back in his seat and went to work on his own tort.

Without looking up from her own plate she whispered, "All's forgiven, Captain," and continued to eat.

{{{{}}}}

The ship's stock restored and the Ladies' belongings some what replenished, the HMS Spyridon weighed anchor the following day and set sail for Tallin.

"Tallin?" Lydia asked her mistress.

"It's a port city in Estonia, Lydia. Keep up," she ordered shortly as she whisked by her, attempting to place some of their newly bought goods in their new trunks.

Lydia looked away, trying to hide her embarrassment.

As much as Mary scolded herself, she felt a subtle wave of joy at seeing Lydia brushed aside for once. Lydia was rarely unkind to her, and they shared a unique sort of commiseration at having the honor of serving Lady Furse. Still, she couldn't help feel a little excited at being better-liked for once. She felt generous with her recent success though, and so she dished out what Lydia was dying to have explained.

"Lydia, the last place the princess was seen-"

"Princess? I thought we were trying to find the Romanov Lady."

Mary rolled her eyes at Lydia's expense, "Everyone's a prince or princess in the Czar's family. It's not like English hierarchy, Lydia. She's not 'in line' as it were. In fact she's just his niece." She considered that for a moment, before decided it was of ironic value. "Like the Duke to His Majesty!"

Lydia nodded self-consciously, not wanting to look stupid.

"Anyways, the princess, Lady Romanov, has fled to Estonia to escape the Czar Alexander's reach. He's decreed that any priest that attempts to wed the Duke and the Princess is to be imprisoned and hanged."

Lydia made an outraged face, "Death? For marrying someone?"

Mary pompously ignored her, "They must find a willing priest and an understanding town to protect them. In the Duke's last letter to the girl, he tells her to meet him in Tallin. They know that we're pursuing them so they've likely fled Tallin as well."

"So why are we going there then?"

"To find clues to where they've run off to!"

Lydia had a seat on a cushion. "Seems like a lot of work for just a marriage. They must really love- "

"It's not love, Lydia," Lady Furses silky voice interrupted. "It's a statement and a political power play." Her tone had a dark quality to it. She looked at her two Ladies in a proficiently bored and unfeeling manner. "Now will you two be quiet? It's bad enough being in here all day without having to hear you blather away." She went back to her work.

Mary quieted and occupied herself quickly, trying to disguise the unexpected anguish the Lady's words had caused her; more powerful than if she had never felt favored at all.

Lydia just stared out the aft window at the Spyridon's foaming wake.


	5. Dermo! Tragedy Near Tallinn

_**Dermo! Tragedy near Tallinn**_

* * *

{{{{}}}}

Later that night, Mary restored herself in her Lady's good eyes. She had been sent on a covert mission to find Mister Morris and give him a message and by-god she was going to do it. She nonchalantly slipped down the ladder to find her way to the Royal Marines' quarters. She found them well enough, and with enough attention from the men. Trying not to seem suspicious, she waltzed past the marine's till she was sure she had gotten Morris's attention.

She headed above deck to the nippy night air, where she felt a little conspicuous.

Morris scared her as he materialized behind her in the dark.

She jumped.

"Sorry, my sweet. What's got you all jumpy?"

She ignored his flirtations, somewhat annoyed.

"The Lady would like to see you again tonight before you must return to your quarters."

Morris smiled cockily.

"Thank you, milady!"

She rolled her eyes as he snuck off to meet Lady Anne.

_'What a dull existence I live- running errands and doing favors for other people! Oh well, it's not the most lucrative position in the world, but it will have to do for now.'_

{{{{}}}}

Morris shivered as Anne slid a finger along his collarbone and hummed. They lay on the floor of the cabin, sweetly resting after their forbidden exertions.

"Why are you so good to me?" he asked blissfully.

"I think it's important to be kind to those you care about in life," she said softly, as if she had been thinking of the very same thing.

He smiled happily.

She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him seriously.

"That's why I agreed to come on this mission."

"What do you mean? I thought the King asked you to be a diplomat to the Czar."

She looked away to hide her annoyance at his simplicity.

"Yes, but I agreed to do it because I'm also personally involved."

This piqued his interest.

"How so?"

She looked back to him and looked reflectively at the floor.

"I... I know the Duke. We were betrothed once."

Morris let out a whistle.

_'How churlish,' _she grimaced to herself.

"Yes, we were betrothed. I actually liked him, maybe loved him, but I never got to find out, because the Russian girl was more willing to... give up her virginity."

Morris was listening wide-eyed.

Anne went on, "He never asked me to give it to him, but I knew I would loose him if I didn't."

She checked- he was still listening. Anne looked away ashamedly. Morris cupped her cheek and turned her face back to him. She smiled.

"I gave him the only thing I truly had to give and he left me for her. Now, I'm older and I have nieces and nephews that are already married. Nobody wants me."

Morris sat up on his elbow now and kissed her deeply. She kissed him passionately back.

He looked meaningfully into her eyes and promised her that he would always want her.

She gazed uncertainly back into his eyes.

He looked at her seriously, "You doubt me?"

She looked away. He kissed her urgently with conviction.

When he pulled back to stare into her beautiful, blue eyes once more, he asked, "How can I prove it to you?"

She smiled mysteriously at him and held his gaze this time.

{{{{}}}}

The days grew warmer as winter came to its end and spring heated the waters. Spirits rose with the temperature. Time quickly passed and the HMS Spyridon gradually made her northward turn. The luck of the Spyridon held as the ship and its company fortuitously steered clear of the rough storms Spring customarily begets. Hornblower was thankful for that and imagined his guests were as well. The Baltic Sea was no refuge for ships. Many vessels were smashed, drowned, and laid to rest at the bottom of the cruel, deep sea. But Fortune smiled on the Spyridon and soon the cry, "Land, ho!" was heard belted from the crow's nest.

Tallinn was no small hamlet.

"It's a major port of Estonia's. You should be able to replace whatever you lost during the storm that Højen couldn't supply you with, my Lady," Daley flirtatiously informed Lady Mary.

She blushed in response as he smiled boyishly and bent to kiss her hand.

"Daley! Quit your dawdling and mind the men!" Alden shouted from the poop deck.

Daley whipped around to fix his harasser with an exasperated glower and Mary giggled at the charmingly un-suave lieutenant. Daley turned back to the Lady.

"My Lady, if you'll just excuse me..." he smiled at the Lady.

She obligingly gave him a demure little bow to- if anything- allay his bruised ego. He beamed and went off to attend to the First Mate.

"My God, Alden, you didn't have to do that. The men are fine."

"Yes, well, you looked like a bumbling idiot down there scraping and bowing."

"It's called etiquette, my good man- etiquette. And it was going quite swimmingly until you interrupted."

"Oh so that's what you were doing! The way you were hunched over and grabbing on to the Lady's hand for support, I thought you were having back problems. I was wondering why you were slobbering over her hand. Seizure maybe? I don't know."

"Ha! Figures you wouldn't know etiquette when you saw it!" he checked himself and tacked a belated, "Sir," to the end.

Alden gave him a withering look.

"Trust me, Daley. I was doing you a favor."

Wilkes leaned in between the two officers to considerately put his two-cents in, "He was. You looked a right git standin' there goin' on so with tha Lady. Though to be fair, Sir," he said glancing at Alden, "the Lady didn't seem to mind his..." he screwed his face us in concentration as he searched for the right word, "ah! Attentions!" He gave a yellow smile, obviously pleased with his brain's quick handiwork, and dashed off to the weather deck.

Alden looked to Daley who was obviously pleased with Wilkes's mental handiwork as well. The senior officer rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the capstan, where the men were lowering the anchor.

A plethora of shouts and voices rang chaotically with the distinctive languages. Daley ran down to the weather deck and leant across the main rail to converse with the dockworker. He shouted a few things in thickly accented Russian to the native.

Alden shook his head. The boy was a fool, but he had his talents. He could speak some Russian, thanks to his immigrant grandmother.

_'If you can call speaking Russian a talent.'_ He debated prejudicially to himself as he watched the young man point and shout in gibberish. _'It's more like a use. The boy has his uses.' _

Daley looked up to Alden and gave him a thumbs up, before running off to the bow.

"This is going to be a long voyage," he stated to no one in particular.

{{{{}}}}

"They're not going to tell you anything, Captain," Daley prognosticated walking back towards where Hornblower stood at the bar.

Hornblower peered over Daley's shoulder at the table of dockworkers. They looked friendly enough, but their attitudes had soured at Daley's questions. They stared down at their mugs and occasionally shot each other meaningful looks before glancing back at the group of Englishmen. Hollister shifted beside him.

"Sorry, Captain."

"No, you're right, Daley. Sympathizers, most likely. But they've definitely had to see something. The Lady fled from Saint Petersburg by ship, so it had to have docked somewhere in Tallinn to let her off."

Hollister reasoned with him, "That is, unless she took a row boat to a secluded part of the shore."

"Or swam," Daley added unhelpfully.

The other two ignored him.

"No, she docked. Look at the way they keep glancing at each other; like they're trying to tell each other to keep silent. It might just be because we're foreigners, but those men look as though they'd like nothing more than to eradicate us. I have a feeling a lot of these people have sided against helping the Czar."

Hollister looked around at the dismal state of things and couldn't help but agree with the Captain. The people seemed to be living in a state of perpetual and unrelenting poverty. Life here was unkind.

"So what do we do, Hornblower? None of these people will help us find the Duke."

"Well, we can ask the soldiers that chased them out of the last town. Pellew instructed me that they'd set up camp here in Tallinn until they find their lead."

Daley broke in, "What good's it going to do to ask the idiots who lost them?"

"They'll tell us which direction they went."

"Horatio, they could be long gone by now. It's been weeks since that piece of intelligence was given to us. They could be in Siberia in the time it's taken for us to sail here," Hollister argued.

"It's the only information we're going to get from these people. Besides," he said, trying his best to look encouraging, "In those same weeks it's taken us to sail here, they've been having to contend with the Czar's army and loyalists. Think of the hell _they've_ gone through." He finished with a half-heartedly optimistic smile and clapped Daley on the shoulder as he ushered them out of the bar.

Daley, a natural optimist, was quickly inspired by his Captain's idealist attitude.

"To the barracks, then!" he declared and marched out the door, followed by the Captain, and then Hollister, looking quite martyred.

The Estonian's watched with raised eyebrows as the peculiar group disappeared into the brilliant sunlight.

{{{{}}}}

Hornblower looked back to the marines marching along behind them. They were making quite an impression on the townspeople who watched with a mixture of delight, curiosity, and fear.

"Captain."

Hollister's voice alerted the Captain. He returned his attention to the land ahead of them. They had been heading farther and farther inland and now they had come to a small area of open field. In the field numerous tents had been pitched and a mess fire erected shoddily in the center. An array of men busied themselves and dashed about working or passing the time. Their uniforms were distinctly Russian and so were the men that wore them.

The first man to notice them was sitting on a stump before a campfire chewing a dry piece of bread that crumbled quite unappetizingly as he shouted to his commanding officer. Hornblower didn't know if the words were naturally guttural or if the dry bread made them sound so garbled, but he hoped the senior officer could make sense of them.

An unctuous-looking man with a deep-red mustache came barging out of one of the larger tents, haphazardly buckling his belt. He stopped two feet out of the tent and quickly reached back in the tent to pull out his uniform jacket, which he pulled on roughly.

Hollister called for his men to cease march and gave Hornblower a worried look. Hornblower shot Hollister a glance with a stern look to reassure him that this was necessary.

The boisterous commander came to puffed-up and overbearing halt in front of Hornblower, who he saluted robustly. The Captain returned his salute.

The Russian was the first to speak, "You are Hornblower, yes? Of Eenglish Navvy?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, but I was not given your name."

"I am leeder of thet Czar's searching group. My name is Feyodor Ivanovich Silin." He shook Hornblower's hand forcefully.

Hornblower had a feeling this man was very much into appearances. He met Silin's handshake with his own muscle. He decided to introduce the others.

"This is Colonel Commandant Benjamin Hollister, and Lieutenant Junior-Grade Jonathan Daley- our translator, should the need arise."

Silin reproduced his original handshake for the other two. Hollister responded in the like, but Daley made a painfully shocked face and gave an embarrassed laugh as he retrieved his crushed hand and shook it out.

Silin looked at the Lieutenant and gave an under breath snort before leading the way to the cartography tent. Daley gave Hornblower an apologetic look but Hornblower just nodded his head encouragingly.

Inside the tent maps lay in general disarray. The one table in the center of the tent had about five maps splayed across its face. Silin hurriedly pulled the one he needed from the bottom of the five and smoothed it out over the rest.

Everyone jumped as he barked an order suddenly in Russian and one of his foot soldiers came scurrying in, already saluting. He snarled a few course phrases at the young man, who then left in a rush. Silin looked up at the Englishmen.

"We are heer," he announced, pointing to an obvious spot on the map. "The Lady Yelizevyeta Yeva Constantinevna Romanov," he paused in sardonic thoughtfulness to let them memorize the name, "waz last seen heer." He pointed to a spot further north on the map. "We had caught hyer az she waits fur hyer Eenglishman hussban in small veelage north from heer'. But when he arrive, he took hyer wif him."

"How'd they escape?" Daley asked incredulously.

Hornblower crossed his eyes and quietly tensed as the muscular Russian shot looks of pure venom at the young lieutenant.

_'Why, why, why did I bring this tactless git?'_

"They hadt hyelp."

Silin looked away from the suddenly very nervous Daley and focused again on the map. Hornblower allowed his eyes to uncross as the hazard passed.

"They sneek owt of encampment and disgize themself as... as...**_Rabui"._**

Daley translated, "Serfs."

Silin nodded at him. "Da, We are searching from them all this time. We are searching heer and also heer. _**Nikto- nichevo**_."

"No one- nothing." Daley intoned.

Silin let his fist gently fall to the table. It made a soft, solid sound as it hit. He gave his guests a regretful look.

Hornblower understood the man's distress; all this time and nothing to show for it.

'_Alexander _can't_ be pleased.'_

"We'll do the best we can to try and find them. We'll follow them south."

Hollister argued his disagreement.

"They'd be expecting the hunting party- forgive the term- to follow them South. They might've headed East, if we're lucky. If they were any kind of smart they would've gone West where they could board a ship. If that's the case, they could be anywhere by now."

"Heez right," Silin agreed.

"He probably is," the Captain harmonized. "If I were the Duke, I'd be heading back to sea to find a ship willing to carry me. Hollister, I'm willing to allow you and your men to stay ashore and head so' so' west. I'll follow along with the Spyridon along the coast. If they're on land, you and your men can take them. If they're in a ship, we can board and take the Duke and give the Czar back his niece. They need to be married as quickly as possible and make an even quicker get-away, so they'll most likely choose a small port town sympathetic to their cause." Hornblower looked to Commander Silin. "Is there such a town south, south west of Tallinn?"

Silin's bright blue eyes scanned the rough parchment of the map, trailed the ink roads, and stopped at a small, brown dot titled in Cyrillic.

"Heer," he announced.

They all leaned in for a closer look. Silin visibly contained himself as Daley's breath unconsciously moved the tip of the Commander's auburn mustache up and down with each intake and exhale.

"Norvehc," he breathed, causing another twitch of the lengthy mustache.

Silin stood up straight, causing the others to do so as well.

"Norvehc is two days from heer. Les time if you go by sheep."

"Sheep?"

This time it was Daley who fixed him with an exasperated stare.

_'Ship! Right, ship.'_

"Oh, yes, sheep," he mended lamely.

Clearly, Daley wasn't the only idiotic one in the bunch.

_'I'll have to remember to be more lenient with him.'_

Silin's foot soldier came rushing back in, once again with a salute glued to his head. Silin nodded at him and he went rushing out again once more. Silin smiled with his gapped, yellow-tombstone teeth at his guests suddenly and clapped his hands.

"And now, you must eet some ov Mitya's cook-king. He is owr cook!"

"I'll bet it's better than what Styles cooks," Daley chimed good-naturedly.

Silin beamed at him and slapped him on the back before leading him out of the tent.

Once Silin was out of hearing range, Hollister looked doubtfully at Hornblower and confessed, "Having seen the bread earlier, I highly doubt it."

{{{{}}}}

"Where are the marines?" Emmet questioned breathlessly as he tried to keep stride with Daley and Hornblower. He had seen them coming from the crow's nest and run out to meet them. Now they were hiking quickly to the Spyridon.

"They're going to stay ashore and follow the Duke on foot. We'll follow by sea."

"So we've got our heading?" He asked excitedly.

"Aye, we do."

Emmet waited for him to divulge more.

Hornblower looked sideways at the boy's expectant face and finally relented.

"West, Emmet, West."

Emmet ran off to the ship to spread word. His arms were looking better. Greene had removed the bandages a week before.

They reached the ship. Alden came strolling down the gangplank.

"Captain." He saluted.

"Alden."

"I take it the expedition ashore went splendidly."

Daley made a dubious face, but Hornblower just nodded pleasantly and bounded up the gangway.

{{{{}}}}

A day and a half later, the HMS Spyridon reached the quaint, but rickety docks of Norvehc. Hornblower tried to drop anchor at the one missing the least planks. Although the dock master didn't seem to mind the business, the villagers along the shore didn't seem overly welcoming.

A boy went running off towards a thatch building. Hornblower watched as a sturdy-looking man emerged to watch Hornblower right back.

Finally the gangplank was lowered and Hornblower made his way down to properly greet the dock master. Daley followed closely behind.

**"_Zdrastvuytye, menya zavut Yevginii Byelenki. Ya imeyu etot portovy basyein."_**

**_"Zdrastvuytye, ya Lyutenant Dalei, a eta Kapitan Xornblowyer."_**

The stocky man shook their hands and made the proper docking arrangements via Daley.

Hornblower watched the intriguing transaction attentively. When it seemed all was taken care of he returned to scanning the austere panorama the village of Norvehc provided. It was beautiful in a morbid and haunting way.

_'Not a place one would want to call 'home' of course but,' _he paused in his thought, something wasn't right. Hornblower's intuition bombarded him with adrenaline to compel his body to prepare for what his brain was missing entirely. Hornblower's eyes began to search the surroundings urgently. His whole body tensed as his eyes fell on the thatch building the boy had gone running to. The man outside its entrance was standing stock still while the boy had disappeared. Alden noticed his Captain's sudden and intense scrutiny of the ramshackle building.

Hornblower looked back at Alden from the dock below and began to shout.

Alden interrupted him before the words flew from the Captain's mouth.

"I know Horatio! Go! I'll take care of the Spyridon!"

Hornblower, thankful to have such an astute officer on board, was already taking off down the dock. Daley chased after him, hopelessly confused. The dock master, Yevgenii, watched them sprint up the dock towards the village and hoped their tremors wouldn't obliterate his best pier.

Hornblower slowed as he approached the wary Estonian. He knew from experience that frightened people would become defensive and dangerous when overwhelmed. He tried to sound peaceable and calm.

"Where is your son?"

The man looked nervously from face to face and didn't seem entirely sure what to do.

Hornblower repeated his question again, this time more slowly and more deliberately.

"Where is your son?"

Daley spoke up from behind the Captain.

**_"Siyn. Gdye- vash siyn?"_**

The man became twitchy as his own survival instincts kicked in.

Hornblower put a hand to stop Daley from going any closer to the panicking villager.

Daley bravely repeated the question firmly, but softer this time, as if he were calming a horse.

**_"Vash siyn- Gdye on?"_**

Despite Daley's soothing tone, the man grabbed a walking staff-sized birch branch from beside the hutch entrance. He swung it around forcing the two Englishmen to jump back. Utilizing the unblocked path, he took off to his right and began to run into the forest. Daley started to run after him but Hornblower caught him.

"Not by yourself, Daley." He turned to face the trickle of deckhands that had hurried warily off the ship to offer backup. "Styles, tell Alden he's officer of the deck. We're following that man to the Duke. Go Style! We've got no time to waist. All you men," he gestured at the five deckhands, "arm yourselves and follow me. And be quick about it." He grabbed Foakes, "Get weapons for the Lieutenant and me. We're going to need them I think."

{{{{}}}}

Yeva knelt on the stone slabs of the church floor, her heavy skirts billowing around her frozen knees. They had barely been kneeling almost a minute and already the chill from the floor had pervaded their legs. She felt badly for Phillip. He only had the thin one layer of trousers between him and the roughly hewn slabs. She glanced at him peripherally and smiled sympathetically. The poor man had thin, bloody scratches along his face from prickly tree branches and a yellowing bruise along his brow from God only knows what. She imagined her face was in a similar state, but she couldn't help but feel concerned for her valiant fiancée.

She watched as he shifted uncomfortably and grimaced. Her hand found his and his wandering attention returned to her. He gave her his own sideways glance and grinned as well when he saw her bemused smirk, which she poorly contained. Their hands warmed each other's as they embraced, and clasped, and intertwined their fingers.

Phillip turned his head slightly towards her to better memorize the moment they had strived so fiercely for. His bride wore a beautiful headdress, specially made for the occasion, which dripped golden-hued pearls along the sides of her face and across her soft forehead. Phillip wished adamantly that he could caress her face right then the way those pearls were. Her hazel eyes reminded him of the ancient forests and her honey skin exuded warmth like their golden bark in the sun. Those same hazel irises now looked back at him deeply as she committed the moment to memory as well. She had never seemed surer of anything in all the time that he had known her.

Her confident smile bolstered him and he found himself thinking, _'There's no one else I'd rather do this with.'_

The priest called forth the witnesses. Raisa, Yeva's Lady in waiting, approached the darkly clad priest and took the simple, metal crown, which she then held over her Lady's head.

_'Not like we would have used in Saint Petersburg,' _she sniffed inwardly,_ 'We would have used a proper wedding crown- none of this sub-standard rubbish. But then, after these last few weeks, I'd be willing to use an iron barrel brace to get this wedding over and done with.'_

Raisa dutifully held the humble crown inches above the bride's head.

Roland, Phillip's witness, stepped forward hesitantly. Having not been privy to Russian Orthodox customs, he was nervously trying to remember just what he had to do exactly to participate. Luckily, he had Raisa's flawless example to follow. He accepted the bulkier grooms' crown and held it over the Duke's head. After about thirty seconds his arms began to burn with the effort of supporting it's weight, and envied Raisa's less substantial burden.

The priest chanted in some unintelligible tone.

_'This guy could be saying an incantation for all I know,'_ Roland mused.

He watched as the ceremony unfolded with as much interest as his shaking arms would allow.

A shout and frantic steps were heard rushing up the church steps. New distant and muffled yells followed.

Yeva watched as Phillip's contented, blue eyes turned from bliss to distressed alert in an instant. His primal instinct to prepare for danger was very much in evidence and caused her heart to freeze. Although everyone was listening to the chaotic sounds emitting from outside the church, none of the party moved. It was if time had frozen and God had decided to play an awful joke on the desperate couple.

Anton, the boy whose father had encouraged the village to protect the aristocratic pair, came bursting in the door shouting in Estonian. The Englishmen didn't need a translator to understand his behavior.

All five remained perfectly still for a moment before Phillip jumped up and pulled his young bride to her feet. Terror seized their hearts, as their dream seemed to be cruelly wrenched from them.

"British soldiers are coming from the docks and more from the forest," Yeva voiced urgently.

"We've come this far! Marry them already!" Roland shouted to the dumbstruck priest. The cleric didn't move.

"Blast it, man. We don't have time for this!" Phillip tried to bring the priest out of his shock.

The priest came out of his stunned state, but instead of producing the official papers for the couple to sign, he ripped off his Orthodox hat and went running through a heavy, wooden door off to his right. The memory of the Czar's promised fate for any priest that attempts a marriage between the two patricians fueled his frantic pace as he ran away from the simple church.

Inside the chapel, Phillip furiously watched the clergyman's exit. Raisa threw the unadorned crown to a splintery pew and hurried to prepare for her Lady's own exit. As she started to shepherd her mistress towards the same door, Yeva instinctively reached out for Phillip, who grasped her in response. He hugged her close to his chest.

"Roland, find the papers. We don't need the priest."

Raisa stamped her foot angrily, "He has the papers! He was carrying them in his bible, damn him!"

As the noises from outside increased, the chapel itself seemed to get quieter.

_'It's not going to end like this. I'd rather spend the rest of my life in prison, than go back to England without Yeva.'_

He pulled her away and looked into her vibrant eyes. They told him that she was of the same mind. He nodded decisively, let go of Yeva, and quickly walked towards the main doors. Anton jumped out of his way and stood nervously between two of the pews.

"Roland, take Raisa and ready the horses from the church stable. Bring them around to the back here and when everything's all set I'll bring Yeva out. Don't knock unless everything's safe." He reached the two large doors and promptly slammed the bar in place.

Raisa kissed her Lady reluctantly on the cheek before allowing Roland to escort her through the side door and into the perpendicular hall that lead to the clergymen's rooms and storage closets and eventually to the back lawn of the church.

"Yeva, tell the boy to hide himself."

**"_Skroityes, Anton_,"** she instructed.

Someone tried to open the main doors, making Yeva's heart skip a beat.

Anton gave the Lady an unsure look before disappearing behind the stumpy pew in the corner.

A loud bang issued throughout the chapel as someone battered the front doors from the opposite side.

"Phillip, no. Not this way..." Yeva pleaded from the altar.

He had placed himself directly in front of the doors, should the thin wooden plank give way. He looked back to her stern face and relented to her request. Rushing over to the renegade faction's bags, he began to rummage for his own. Once he found his bag, he delved into it and produced a primed pistol.

Another bang permeated the tiny hall. The sound of splintering wood accompanied it.

Phillip cursed and strode towards his dazed bride. From five paces away, he could see the warranted fear in her eyes. She grabbed him as he neared and together they made for the side door. At the same time, a final blow to the doors was rewarded with a satisfying crunch.

Light flooded the chapel and a single figure in the traditional English red uniform came bursting in with it. Phillip increased their pace substantially, but the figure was upon before they could blink.

"Stop right there!" he commanded excitedly.

More noises of distress came through the thick wood of the side door.

_'God, please don't let that be Raisa and Roland getting caught.' _She begged hopelessly. Those two were their only hope.

Yeva threw a look over her shoulder and glimpsed the barrel of a rifle pointed straight at them. Phillip did as well.

They froze, knowing they couldn't escape. Phillip turned to face their spirited attacker. Yeva peeked over the Duke's shoulder trying to gage the situation. Her skirts bumped something he held in his right hand behind his back- the pistol. They had one shot if they needed it. She knew Phillip wouldn't kill the young soldier unless he was forced.

The aggressive soldier looked almost thrilled to have them under his mercy. He stared back at them both, enthralled and almost giddy with his all-powerful position. They watched imperturbably as the adrenaline pumped through him. Their composed and impassive bearing allowed him to take momentary pleasure in the seductive power. They let him have his moment. It would do them no good to deny him.

Then, it seemed as though he tired their disimpassioned attitudes. He was sweating profusely still.

"Get down on your knees," he ordered sadistically.

Yeva looked to Phillip to coordinate her decision with him. He didn't turn around to meet her eye. He didn't move at all. Neither would she. Hers was a long line of dignified nobility. She wouldn't bend so easily either.

"Get down on your knees," he repeated, this time more urgently.

_'Something isn't right. Even as dissenters, our stations would not allow us to be treated as lowly convicts. Our surrender should be enough. What does he want?' _she rushed to decipher their captor's motives.

The strange man's patience disappeared entirely. Sweat stained his collar and surfaced in thick droplets along his forehead.

In a split-second, the soldier righted his rifle's aim and Phillip leapt into action. He turned his back to the man and spread his arms out in defense of his wide-eyed bride. As the muzzle went off with an ear-shattering crack, Yeva flinched away. Phillip's chest shoved into the back of her left shoulder forcefully. She stumbled slightly. The sound of the rifle being discharged seemed to suck all the sound out of the surrounding air, and left only a ringing silence. Horrified she turned back to Phillip. Blood cascaded down his torso. His face was rapidly going blank as he fell to the floor. She tried to scream but nothing came out. Her mouth gaped open in shock and terror.

The soldier watched, stunned at the occurrence as well. He witnessed as her face distorted awfully before she fell to her knees at the Duke's side. Her hands levitated erratically, inches from his body, as if she didn't want to touch him, lest she hurt him further. Her breath came in painful gasps and her eyes expanded in disbelief, unable to blink. Now the tears came. Instead of cascading down her face, they fell directly to the Duke's body, like wax from a leaning candle. Her shaking fingers hovered over his hand and her eyes seemed to become suddenly lucid. A breath caught in her throat and she swallowed it with purpose. She let her fingers stroke the length of the back of his hand.

The Englishman had no time to defend himself when he realized what she was reaching for. She grasped the pistol definitely and spun around to face Phillip's killer.

He ran towards her in a futile attempt to smash her face with his rifle. She fired at his heart while he was three paces away. The blow knocked him backwards and he fell to the stone floor. Incredulous at the turn of events, he clambered in reverse as fast as he could with the bullet wound. His blindly groping arms latched onto one of the six foot, cast iron candle stands, and brought it crashing down. Blood gurgled from his mouth and each heartbeat pumped more blood from the hole in his chest.

Yeva turned morbidly back to Phillip. His eyes were forever splayed open in shock and his skin lost its pallor as the blood stilled in his veins. A trickle of blood trailed from the corner of his unmoving mouth. She lovingly put her cheek upon his and cried with increasing volatility. She pressed her forehead to his as if occupying the same space would somehow transfer some of her life to him. When this failed to resurrect his vitality, she burst into uncontrolled rage. She shook him forcefully and screamed. With each piercing cry, she questioned the Gods' humanity.

"**_Pochemy ty ubival evo!? Dermo!"_**

_'Why!? Why would you kill him!? Shit!?'_

**_"Durak!"_**

_'What have I done to You!? We came so, so far! We could have made it!'_

**_"Pochemu!? Bozhye moi!"_**

In an instant, she was overcome by shame for treating him so. She quieted herself and peered into his pale face. His eyes refused her entrance to his soul as they stared unseeingly at the ceiling. She bowed her head and wept. Leaning closer she kissed him inconsolably on the mouth. She tried to fill the one last kiss with as much love and apology as she could. Tears ran from her face to his and mingled with the blood. A pair of firm hands tried to lift her gently off of the dead man. She lashed out at them with surprise and anger and the gun still hooked around her forefinger and thumb. They released her and their owner backed away cautiously.

{{{{}}}}

_Ten minutes before_...

Hollister had pushed his men to their limits, making the two day journey in a quarter less time. They were going to reach Norvehc at approximately the same time as Hornblower.

"Come on men," he prompted encouragingly, "It's not far now."

The tired marines marched on willingly. They lived for these missions. Morris quickened his pace to match Hollister's lengthy gait.

"They'll be there, I've no doubt." He beamed at his Commandant.

Hollister smiled and looked at him dubiously, "What makes _you _so sure, Morris?"

The good-looking young man just grinned and let his pace slacken to his normal step. Hollister shook his head and let the marine keep his secrets.

Up ahead, the modest trail emerged from the ancient wood and was exposed to a rolling field. Now, with a goal ahead, the men picked up their pace. Two by two they marched into the open light. The soldiers reveled in the undeviating rays of the sun.

_'Warmth!' _Hollister cooed to himself. _'No more chilling shadows. It looks like this clearing lasts all the way to the town.'_

He looked out across the diminishing hills. He could see the town in all its old-world glory, nothing like London or Paris. A simple church stood on a hill in between Norvehc and the royal marines. It looked to be a strong, stone structure.

Then a glint caught his eye and the wind brought with it the sound of incomprehensible shouting. The hairs on the back of Hollister's neck stood up and he tensed to wait for any more clues as to what the shouting was about. He caught sight of a young boy barreling towards the church from the direction of the town. He was shouting as he ran. The boy stopped momentarily as he caught sight of the English troop approaching from the forest. Like lightning, the boy took off again for the church. Hollister watched until his view was interrupted by the church's roof.

_'He must have gone inside,' _Hollister presumed.

He turned to his men, who were watching as well, and gave them the signal to resume their march and increase their speed.

They had made it almost to the church when a well-muscled villager came crashing out of the woods. The harried man was running full tilt towards the modest church as well. Hollister then saw the villager's pursuer. Daley was running breathlessly behind him and Hornblower followed not long after that.

Daley leapt out and miraculously tackled the stocky man. The two of them went sliding into the dust. Hornblower helped pin the man, who was two breaths away from knocking Daley into next Tuesday. The villager began to scream in Estonian at the Church.

"Hollister!" Hornblower chimed with difficulty as the man beneath them struggled. "Thank God you're here! I didn't think you were going to be here till tonight!"

Hollister was always astonished at the Captain's odd sense in timing.

"Yes, well, would you care to explain why you've got a local pinned, Horatio?"

Hornblower opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a frantic Daley.

"Uh, Sir. I don't believe there's time to discuss this. There's a mob of angry Estonians coming."

All the men looked up to where Daley had fixed his gaze. Villagers were running towards them from the main town. They energetically wielded sticks, and axes, and other potentially lethal everyday implements.

Hollister quickly looked to his men and order them not to harm the Estonians' slapdash rescue mob if they could help it.

Hornblower agreed from where he pinned.

_'We're not in the business of hurting the defenseless,' _he reiterated to himself.

Although, the closer they got, the less defenseless the villagers looked. They were angry and they fought like it. To them, they weren't fighting foreigners; they were fighting their acquisitive monarch neighbor. Hollister's men engaged them in a simple and unaffected combat.

The fracas raged around Hornblower as he tried to keep his villager pinned. Daley had to abandon him as a short, and incredibly burly Estonian came at his head with a wooden rake. The boy's father shoved the Captain off of him and recommenced running to the church. Hornblower choked on dust and lunged for his legs. The man paused and kicked him in the chest. Winded, Hornblower loosened his grip.

He got about three steps before Hollister brought him down with a blow to the stomach with a branch he had pulled off the last man that had swung it at him. The man wheezed on the ground, clutching his stomach.

"Th- thank-kyou," Hornblower managed to gasp to Hollister above the din.

Hollister nodded and ran off to assist one of his own men. Too tired to really fight, Hornblower just limped over to the wheezing man and sat on him to wait for the next confrontation. He didn't have long to wait.

Across the dusty yard, Hollister pulled a vicious little waif of a man off of a very scratched Matthews. He restrained the villager as Matthews regained his bearings.

CRACK

Hollister's head whipped towards the Spartan minster. Someone had discharged their firearm. He threw the scrappy villager back to Matthews and headed for the church. Pain shot through his skull as something dense smacked against the back of his head. His brain blanked for a second and his eyes rolled back momentarily to the sky. He regained his senses as he realized he was falling towards the ground.

"Aagghh!"

His cheek had landed on a walnut-sized rock. He lay there for a second as the world whirled around him. He heard another '_CRACK'_.

Or did he?

_'God, that sound could have been my skull breaking into a million little pieces,' _he thought foggily.

The vague feeling that he was supposed to be getting to the church returned to him and he felt an overwhelming need to follow that lead.

His palms scraped against the course ground as he pushed himself up. He shook the hazy feeling from his head and attempted to stand. Once he was sure he could walk upright, he propelled himself forwards to the church, and brushed off the dirt and pebbles as he went. The fog began to lift.

_'Right, the church.'_

Bounding up the steps, he hardly noticed the dismal state of the front doors. Someone had busted them in. He sprinted toward the altar. What he _did_ notice left him wishing he had stayed outside.

Clinging to an overturned wrought-iron candle stand was a bloody and dying Morris. Blood spewed from his chest with each garbled breath. A river of blood flowed freely out of his mouth and down his front. His mouth worked open and close, trying to breath through the crimson fluid. Slowly, his eyes became dull and opaque and he stopped struggling altogether. Hollister crouched next to the dying marine. He gripped the bloody shoulder.

_'No, Aaron.' _Tears stung his eyes and he blinked furiously to rid them of the salty liquid. _'Georgiana is going to die if I tell her you're gone, dammit! She's never going to forgive me!'_ He cursed fate. He cursed this ridiculous mission. He cursed the luck that seemed to abandon him when he needed it the most.

His senses returned sharply to him. Off to the side, he heard an anguished sob. Quickly pivoting to face its origin, he saw a Russian girl sobbing into another dead man's bloody neck- the Duke's. She took no heed of the Commandant and proceeded to touch her forehead to his corpse's pale brow. This only seemed to exacerbate her agony and she threw her head back and screamed.

**_"Pochemy ty ubival evo!? Dermo!...Durak!.. Pochemy!? Bozhye moi!"_**

Hollister felt her explosive anger. It ebbed away as she finished screaming. Tears fell out of the corners of her eyes and dripped back into her headdress. She turned away from her gods and looked back down at his fair remains. Deliberately, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his lifeless mouth. Her eyes closed in tortured concentration, as she seemed to be kissing him goodbye.

Hollister slowly stood up and cautiously went over to her. He leant over her and attempted to pull her away from the dead man. She tensed and drew a surprised intake of breath. Hollister tried to draw her from the dead duke, but quickly jumped back as she jerked away and swung at him with her fists. Tightly clamped in her right was a pistol.

Hornblower ran into the chapel, but stopped short at the site.

Hollister was warily backing away from a girl who was furiously waving an expensive pistol about. Her face was wet from tears.

"Get away! Get away, both of you!"

She tried to draw a ragged breath.

"I'll shoot you in your heart!" She shrieked at Hollister.

He tried to use his face to calm her down and show her that he bore her no ill intentions. He backed away glacially. Still, her aim remained trained on his torso.

When she felt sure enough that neither Hornblower nor Hollister would move, she looked miserably down at the Duke's devastated body. A fresh wave of fury hit her and she looked wildly at the two English officers.

"Now you've got what you want! Look what you've done! **_Durak!_"** Another sorrowful breath. She seemed to come to a weighty decision. Teary as they were, her eyes showed her lucidity and complete devotion to her mind. She spoke softly with a deep hatred, "And now... I'm going to kill you."

She cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

She had already used their one shot to avenge the Duke.

Hornblower grabbed the girl with amazing speed and ripped the gun from her hands. He let her go and she fell to the floor. She wept unabashedly.

Hollister, shook with relief. He couldn't help the physical reaction to the trauma. His mind told him he should be dead, but he was in fact not. He wandered off to a sit on the altar's table in distressed silence.

Hornblower took the gun and left the chapel. He went outside to regroup and direct his men.

Eventually, the Lady's crying ceased and she joined the Colonel Commandant in silence.

{{{{}}}}

**Hey Guys. Just a note from the author- I haven't written anything to post lately because of the unclear (or I should say lack of) response I've been getting. If you like the story or think it's an awful waste of virtual space, please let me know. I do have more story in mind, but I need support. Don't feel pressured either way. Just tell me if you think it's worth the creative energy required to write it! **

**Thanks in advance,**

**A.F.**


	6. Preparation and Irons

Hollister waited for the last wave of shakes to surge through him. He watched his own trembling hand and clenched it into a fist to quell the tremors. He didn't need the world to be privy to his weakness. Nerves shot, cheek awash in the fire of pain, the Commandant blinked deeply and looked to the church's cracked ceiling. His breaths came more steadily and slowly he composed himself. Now he could focus his discontent to its origin.

She sat soundlessly next to the Duke completely still.

Hollister reached down and yanked the Lady from the ground violently his dark, pitiless eyes shooting back and forth from her to the young and freshly dead Morris, a bloody hole penetrating his doublet. Her beautiful, dropped-peal headdress made a hundred little nicking sounds as she was uprooted unceremoniously. Violent tears streaked down the multihued skin of her face. She was simultaneously red, green, and pale white, as if the fright had caused the blood in certain patches to flee to her cheeks and nose, and the rest had just decided to look sickly. She stumbled as Hollister gripped her upper-arm forcefully as he began to pull her painfully forward and out of the plain, orthodox chapel. She was still looking at the body of her almost-husband. She had ceased to breathe. Hollister gave her a good shake as she stumbled once more, and she drew a raggedy, coughing breath and turned her head away from the Duke and, instead, to the path that lay ahead. Hollister heard the tears and distress in her breath and looked away from the wretched girl irately. _'What makes her think tears will help any of this? She's gotten the King's cousin killed and killed one of my men in the same instant. Stupid, self-gratifying shrew. What will I tell Morris's family? What will I tell the King? She should face them herself. Surely even the Czar will disown the egocentric whore now.' _

The rich texture of Romanov's marital skirts was defiled by filth as Hollister propelled her forward, down the church steps, along the muddied path. Her left sleeve was bloodied and ripped. She became deathly silent, as the reality of what had just transgressed began to seem more like a far off and illusory nightmare. Her face became hollow and blank to the world, tear-stained as it was. She could feel the pain her arm was screeching at her consciousness, but for the moment, her consciousness was inexistent, and Hollister's grip was the only thing holding her upright. Hollister threw her to a small band of his marines. The mishandling went unnoticed by the girl, whose eyes remained huge but devoid of anything except forgotten tears and a vast detachment. They caught her roughly and righted her stance.

"Hold her here, till we get things sorted. She's not to be given anything and you are not to speak to her. If she becomes troublesome, I grant you authority to do what you must to physically detain and discourage her from movement. Understood?"

The three marines were taken aback at their officer's abruptness but answered him positively. He nodded concisely, his own eyes blazing with anger and contempt for the Russian.

Hornblower barely glanced at the illustrious scene the group was making as he finished his recoup and returned to his awaiting duties. He tried to remain focused and objective as he made his way into the church to finish assessing the situation.

_ 'Surely it will be easier without the soppy woman's shrieks bouncing off the ruddy vaulted ceiling.'_

Always the cerebral sort, he needed time to think. He needed to see the scene again. He needed the whole situation to make sense before he could formulate a plan of action.

Hollister turned back and followed Hornblower into the stone church and headed for the murdered marine. He jumped what few stairs there were to the church door and banged through it. His vehemence made his own soldiers agitated and worried. He came to a stop to where Hornblower was crouched next to the Duke, disappointedly closing the young man's eyes in a single motion with his thumb and index finger. He had already done this to the unfortunate marine.

"What happened?" asked the Captain sorrowfully.

"By the time I reached them, Morris was already shot and dying. He died seconds after I arrived. I…" He grimaced angrily and his fists balled as he tried to force out the morbid details. "I watched him die. He tried to say something to me, but only blood came out. That…" the Commandant searched for a word despicable enough to belong to the harpy outside, "shrew was on the ground wielding the pistol and clinging to the Duke's body. I looked back to… I looked to Morris's state. He was already dead. She aimed the bloody thing at me and told me she was going to shoot me if I came closer. You showed up not long after that."

Hornblower nodded solemnly and stood. "I am sorry for the loss of Morris, he was a good man."

Hollister nodded silently and looked down; afraid to speak lest he let his pain show. Hornblower went to him and rest a reassuring hand on shoulder.

Hollister swallowed and nodded again. "He is my sister's son."

The Captain looked up surprised, "I didn't know."

Hollister closed his eyes and nodded affirmation

"I'm sorry, Benjamin. I'll do the best I can to make sure he didn't die in vain."  
The Commandant looked to the Captain and gave a small, strained smile in appreciation. Hornblower patted his shoulder one last time and turned to the other men. They were watching the two commanders, apprehensively waiting for orders.

Hornblower obliged them, "Wilkes, Styles… take the Duke and Mr. Morris to Doc and Greene. They'll know what to do."

The two saluted and chanted, "Captain."

Codling ran inside the chapel towards Hornblower.

"Sir!"

"Codling, what are you doing here? I told you to stay with the Ladies aboard ship."

"I tried, Sir, bless me I tried! Lady Furse wouldn't stay! She tol' me she was goin' ta have me whipped if I didn' get out o' 'er way!"

"I'm the Captain, Codling. I outrank the Lady so please get back on the Spyridon."

"I would, Sir, if I thought she would fallah me," he admitted distressed.

"She's here?"

"Aye, Sir."

"Damn it. I don't need this right now. Daley, monitor the men."

He sped through the chapel and out into the overcast sunlight, followed by Codling. The Ladies were making their way quickly up the path to the church. Lady Furse had an eager smile on her face as she approached the Captain.

"My compliments, Captain," she curtsied slightly; the first time she had ever done so to anyone since he had met her. "I trust you had no trouble in apprehending the couple." Her voice rang with mirth.

Hornblower's face told her differently.

"Captain? You did secure the Duke, did you not?" Her voice turned to that of a worried soul. Her face did as well as she began to scan the scene for clues to what was happening.

The Captain wanted to protect her from seeing the two dead men. He wanted to shelter her from the horrible reality. She became panicky as he tried to block her way to the church.

As she battled for entrance, Wilkes and Styles emerged carrying the Duke's lifeless body with Morris's body trailing in its wake. Hornblower tried to place his own body between the Lady's ever-widening eyes and the two cadavers.

_'Damn it! She doesn't need to see this!'_

Her eyes followed frightened and shocked as the men passed. She pushed Hornblower away and her hands flew to her mouth. She began to back away and fainted. Hornblower was by her side in less than a second to catch her light frame. The other Ladies gasped. The Captain held her in his arms and urgently looked at her beautiful, softened face. Codling's hand came into view and poked the unconscious Lady in the cheek. Hornblower was on the verge of admonishing him when, her eyes flashed open, and upon realizing where she was, she struggled to get free. Hornblower let her go as she pushed away from him.

"Lady Anne, please, let Codling take you back to the ship."

She straightened herself self-consciously. "Thank you, Captain, I'll…" Her eyes had landed on the other girl, held standing by the three marines. She began to walk towards the pathetic creature. "Is that the woman who seduced the Duke?" she inquired with a strained voice.

"Yes, but Lady, please don't…" he reached for her arm and grasped air.

She picked up speed as she walked, her eyes never leaving the girl's tame figure. Hornblower and her Ladies followed. She descended upon the catatonic aristocrat with a fury.

A slap from Lady Furse made her stumble back into her jailors' arms, where she seemed to come out of her reverie. The girl saw the next blow about to be landed on her face and she shrinked into the men. But before the Lady could assault her again, Hornblower's hand caught her arm and pulled her back. Lady Furse's face was furious as she let herself be drawn into the Captain's arms, where she buried her tears in his shoulder. He backed away from the prisoner with her in his grip.

"Get her out of here! Take her to the brig."

The marines began to cart the quiet woman off to the ship's cells. Hornblower let his grip on the Lady relax. She, however, remained there for a minute before pulling herself together. She backed away from him slowly, with dignity. Her face had crystalline tears along the bottom of her eyes.

"Thank you, Captain. Forgive me. I don't know what came over me."

"Of course." He wanted to do what he could to assuage her embarrassment.

"May I go sit in the church? I don't think I can be near… the ship right now."

"Of course." He let her and her Ladies pass and watched as they filed through the thick, wooden doors.

Hornblower's concerned face returned to its business-like frown as Hollister emerged where the Ladies had just entered. He quickly walked over the Hornblower.

"I've sent a few factions of my marines out to look for the priest and the witnesses."

"Good. We'll need them before this is over."

{{{{}}}}

Dinner was silent that night. All present reflected on the day's occurrences. Hollister and Lady Furse refused to eat at all. No one felt up to forcing them. It ended promptly and without embellishment. People barely said good night to each other- some not at all.

The Captain called a meeting of only the foremost involved to discuss their plan. Upon hearing the mention of a meeting, Lady Furse requested to be present. Hornblower was hesitant to allow her.

_ 'She's already had enough excitement for today. It would be stressful for her to hear the situation discussed so roughly. She won't be able to handle it.'_

Hornblower denied her request.

"Please, Captain. I have as much invested in this affair as you, Sir." She locked eyes with him.

Hornblower grudgingly agreed but sent the other two ladies away.

Hollister, Alden, and Lyford pulled excess chairs away from the table and Bryson brought the Captain parchment and ink. The party resettled and commenced with business.

Hollister was the first to speak. Etiquette tossed aside, he ran his large, tan hand through his equally tan hair and sighed. "She should be tried for her crimes against England and the King. After convincing the Duke to go against the King's will, she shot one of His Royal Marines dead in a church. Morris and my men, as you all know, were under my strict orders to not harm the pair. I demand she be tried for the murder of my nephew."

He fell silent and the table was quiet for minute before the next view was addressed. The Captain listened attentively while statements of general agreement were voiced. At last, they reached the Lady.

"Lady Furse, do you have anything you wish to say?"

The Lady took a calming breath and set about her story methodically.

"Many of you have just become acquainted of the situation with the Duke, but this has been problematic for some time. Efforts by His Majesty to keep the whole affair under wraps have been thus far successful. His Majesty has implored my help since the day it became a nuisance. Now I shall share with you all, information pertinent to the situation. Sir Phillip Hanover met Lady Yelizevyeta Romanov in Saint Petersburg during a diplomatic endeavor. They continued to correspond knowing full well he had been betrothed to another since his twelfth birthday. They met twice more on different occasions, and became better acquainted. She seduced the Duke with letters and promises expressly forbid by His Majesty, and coerced him into eloping with the lie that she was with child."

The men gathered around the table listened in shock at the disturbing revelation. The Lady went on.

"I know this because my Lady, Mary, had kept company at the Duke's estate during the transgression and was the Duke's confidant. After Sir Phillip disappeared, she confiscated the letters from where he had hidden them to prevent their falling into unsavory hands."

Hollister heatedly looked down and away. His mouth pulled up in one corner with contempt. He was trying to contain himself.

"The Duke is not to blame. He did only what he thought was right for the non-existent child. The poor man was lured into this by the deceitful seductress."

"What are we to do now?" Alden inquired stumped. "We can't take her back to England for trial without the blessing of the Czar and we surely can't trust her to be judged adequately for her crimes here. The people love her too much and the Czar surely won't allow a member of the royal family be subjected to the scrutiny of the courts as a commoner."

Lyford interjected, "He's right. The King would not want us to risk the delicate alliance England and Russia share, over a lover's scheme gone sorely amiss. Absconding with the girl back to England would infuriate the Russians."

Hollister exploded on the opposite side of the table, "You would have us wait around like imbeciles for the Russians to send us on our way back to England without the murderer!? She killed two of our men! Have you no backbone!? My sister's son died defending King and country, damn it! Does his sacrifice mean nothing?" He swallowed roughly as he tried to keep his anger in check. Once he had regained his composure he continued somewhat more calmly. "If you let her go to the Russians, he will never see justice."

Lyford attempted to stammer out an apologetic reply. Hornblower quieted the lieutenant.

"Lyford, it's alright. You're right."

Hollister looked up infuriated.

"And you're right, Hollister. We can't just let ourselves be puppets to Russian politic, but we cannot be ignorant of it was well. Let us wait for the Czar's envoy to arrive. We have the evidence and influence we need to secure a proper trial. We have only to wait for the Czar's permission."

"Permission?" Alden interpolated, "How can you be sure the Czar is on our side?"

Lady Furse assisted the Captain's statement. "He knows what it will mean to deny the King of England justice. He won't let family ties keep him from protecting the alliance. He needs the authority of the alliance to help hold the throne of Russia. Look at the people. Look at the way they fought today to protect the Lady."

Hollister sneered at the word "Lady."

Lyford asked, "What do you mean? What do a couple of romanticizing farmers have to do with the Czar's decision?"

She sat up straighter and leaned forward to explain her point.

"The Czar's niece has become another icon of revolution in the country since her disregard of the Czar's orders. Before this all started, she was already being confined from the public. She had spoken disparagingly of the monarchy on several occasions, and Mary told me about her treasonous political views."

Here she paused for effect and looked around the table at the men, all attentively listening.

"She has already distanced herself from the royal family because of this. This will be a good opportunity for the Czar to make an example of her and rid himself of a nuisance at the same time. Then the plebeians won't have a figurehead to throw their support behind."

They all sat in silence as Lady Furse's quick observations sank in. She looked at Hornblower, who kept her gaze.

Alden made a clever conclusion himself, "And think- with her marriage to a powerful English Duke, nephew to the King no less, the revolutionaries would have their indisputable English connection. His Majesty would sympathize with his beloved nephew and it would disintegrate the integrity and strength of his alliance with the Czar!"

"Why would the King support an anti-monarchial revolution?"

Lady Furse replied, "He wouldn't have to let it fully transgress. Just let it weaken the Russian state till he could replace it with a government more loyal to the English crown."

Lyford scratched his sandy head and contemplated just how deep in over their heads they were exactly. He looked reluctantly accepting of the situation. He'd been in worse, hadn't he?

He looked up at the company with his good-natured, deep blue eyes and asked, "Well, what do we do next, then?"

Hornblower contemplated for a moment.

"We're going to wait for the Russian envoy. I have faith that the Czar will grant us permission to try the girl on England's terms."

Hollister grudgingly fumed on Hornblower's other side. Hornblower turned to him.

"I wouldn't leave this one to chance if I didn't firmly believe that justice will be found for you and all involved, Ben."

Hollister nodded acceptingly at the Captain. He trusted Hornblower to do what was right.

Hornblower, reassured of Hollister's loyalty, looked once more at the rest of the table. "Until the envoy arrives, we keep her in the brig as prisoner. She'll be guarded by a marine day and night. And we shall occupy ourselves with preparing our case. We need to find any witnesses there were and get a statement on the cause of deaths from the doctor. I want everything to be drum tight. We have to be ready for anything."

The group nodded in agreement and finished the meeting.

He caught Lyford on his way out and asked him to see that Greene was doing a thorough assessment of the bodies, then sent him on his way. He did the same to Alden, but instead asked him to send a small contingent of marines in plain clothes to monitor the village and its inhabitants, lest they decide to storm the ship and rescue their princess. Hollister stopped to talk to Hornblower before leaving himself. He looked somberly at Hornblower with his dark brown eyes. Hornblower could see a swirl of emotions play through the Colonel Commandant's face; anger, frustration, embarrassment, and regret.

"I just wanted to apologize for my heated words. You have only ever been loyal and fair to me and my men."

"I understand, Benjamin. I can't imagine being half as stoic in your position."

Hollister shook his hand and the two parted ways for the night.

_ 'One last thing,'_ Hornblower reminded himself.

He went to Lady Furse. She looked up at him quietly. They held their gaze a half-second too long before Hornblower broke it. He looked out the aft window and pretended to admire the calm waves of the Slavic port.

As he walked to it he informed her, "I'll need you to collect what you can from Lady Mary on the subject of the Duke's relationship with the princess. Any letters, gifts, promises."

"Of course," she replied softly from behind him.

Hornblower tensed in surprise as he realized she had become much closer behind him than he originally thought. He turned to leave but stopped short when he saw her lonely and unsure face gazing at the shadowy blue night just as he had.

Suddenly wanting to comfort her, he admitted, "I'm sorry you had to see that today, Lady Furse. If I had been able to, I wouldn't have let any of this lot fall to you."

She kept her gaze on the sea. "Anne. Call me Anne." Her icy, blue eyes turned to meet his own dark eyes.

"Anne." He breathed.

Every muscle in his body was tense and numb at the same time. He was getting lost in her beautiful face. Her gleaming dark brown, almost black, hair framed the pale skin of her face in ringlets. He let his eyes move over her delicate alabaster features, slowly memorizing her face as it was now- not sharp and angled the way they normally were, but soft and innocent, almost afraid. She let him study her willingly, then she reached a silky, fair hand up and let the tips of her fingers trail along the side of his beautiful face in a singular and soft movement. When her fingers reached the top of his neck, he clenched his eyes shut and grimaced as his own calloused hand reached up to enclose her silken hand. His whole body whined in protest as he carefully removed it from his tingling jaw line and placed it back in her own care.

"Anne."

She looked down in embarrassment and frustration. He pulled her chin up to peer into her face.

"Anne, I can't. I just can't."

She nodded dejectedly, but she understood. He hesitated a second before hastily nodding good night and exited the room; leaving her alone and disturbed.

{{{{}}}}

_'This probably isn't a good idea.' _Hollister thought to himself as he descended the ladder into the belly of the ship where the brig was located. It was pitch black except for a single lantern that burned dimly next to a sleeping marine. He was leaned up against the wall opposite the iron cell and peacefully dozing. Hollister kicked the marine's boot.

The young man jumped and scrambled to get up as he recognized commanding officer's glowering face looking moodily down on him in the flickering flame's light.

"Sir! Sorry, Sir! It won't happen ag-"

"Again. I know, Matthews." He looked to the darkened cage and back to Matthews. "Go wait above deck till I summon you."

Matthews looked hesitantly at the senior officer. Hollister's pitiless face looked like an evil marble bust in the yellowy light to the young man, and he questioned the Commandant's reasons.

"Now, Matthews."

The marine reluctantly gathered his rifle and left.

Hollister was left alone in the gloomy cabin.

_'No. Not alone.' _He remembered sinisterly.

He walked to the edges of the iron bars and waited for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he discerned a still figure sitting against the opposite wall on the floor. Sneering disparagingly, he grabbed the lantern off of the peg it hung from. He dropped to a crouch and the light followed him, illuminating the floor and the face across from him. She still wore the headdress and the imperialistic dress. Her face was stone. It watched him as he watched her.

"Come here," he ordered venomously.

She continued to sit and stare.

"Come here," he tried again more slowly.

_'The cow must speak English. I heard her shouting in English yesterday, and the Duke surely didn't speak Russian.' _He remembered that most aristocrats in Russia only taught their children French._ ' Maybe they spoke French.'_

"Allez-vous ici."

Nothing.

He yelled, "Allez-vous ici!" and hit the bars with his fist.

Still, she just watched.

He stood up and kicked the cage. She flinched.

"You will die a slow and painful death. I'll see to it," he vowed odiously and stormed towards the ladder.

Just as he began his ascent he heard the faintest voice echo from the shadows.

"I know."

{{{{}}}}

The next day dawned bleak and grey and Hollister was up to see it. The Captain soon joined him.

"Morning, Hollister."

"Hornblower."

Hollister was leaning along the main rail, watching the small port's activities. Off in the distance, he could see the Orthodox Church dully gleaming in the weak light.

"Any news on the priest and the witnesses."

Hollister looked down into the grey water. "Nothing."

"They'll find them," he assured the young Commandant.

"Let us hope so."

Lady Furse and her gaggle of ladies emerged from the quarterdeck and approached the pair. The two men straightened and bowed to the Ladies, who curtsied back. The three silently joined the two in their surveillance. They stood there for a good while, as the sun, slowly climbed a fraction of an inch.

Lady Furse stood next to the Captain, who was aware of her extreme proximity. He leaned in willingly to catch scent of her rich perfume. She quietly cleared her throat, which sounded ten times louder than normal, and startled the Captain. The two men turned their attentions to her.

"I'd like to go ashore and take note on our available assets, if that's alright with you."

The Captain felt an inexplicable sense of anxiety over letting her get too far away from him. The worry in his face was apparent to the Lady, who quickly chimed, "I don't mind taking a guard with us to shore. In case trouble were to arise."

Hornblower nodded in agreement. "Only if you take a guard." He thought a moment, "-and Codling."

{{{{}}}}

The Ladies brought Codling and Daley with them into the inn to inquire about rooms and services. The surly barmaid seemed unimpressed by their costume and manner. Her father however was delighted beyond reason that important foreign guests had deemed _his_ inn the best in the village. Not that there was much competition, but still, it paid to have decent food and semi-fresh sheets, now and then.

Once again, poor Daley was left to make the arrangements armed with a bit of knowledge and a bunch of gesturing. The wiry innkeeper looked quite comical bouncing around gesticulating animatedly with his wispy arms. Codling just looked at the manly barmaid and wondered how _she_ came from _him_. He quickly looked away as she turned to give him an intimidating stare.

_ 'She's not one I'd like to tangle with, that's for sure. Probably'ld cleave me in two if she fancied.'_

And from the venomous look she was giving him, Codling reckoned she might just fancy doing that. He pretended to be politely interested in the conversation Daley was carrying on with the innkeeper. They seemed to reach a conclusion and shook hands, the innkeeper nodding energetically and smiling happily. The daughter rolled her eyes and trudged off into the kitchen carrying a load of dishes under her arm.

Daley came over to where the Ladies stood with Codling and exhaled relieved.

"He's more than willing to accommodate our needs while we wait for the messenger to get back with the Czar's envoy."

"And he understands the situation. He knows the Lady Romanov will be with us, correct?"

Daley nodded, "Yes. It doesn't seem to bother him in the least. A monarchial sympathizer, I think. Or maybe he just doesn't care."

Lady Furse looked around with an evaluating eye.

"This will do. Shall we go tell the Captain?"

{{{{}}}}

"If we move the girl to the inn, we can keep the ship from coming to any relative harm, and we'll be able to establish ourselves more thoroughly in the community. The villagers won't be as enthusiastic to organize an upheaval if we're right here to monitor them," Lady Furse reasoned to Hornblower as they stood on the poop deck.

He nodded as he listened to her logic. A group of officers and aristocrats stood gathered around them as they talked. All of them, waiting for orders. He looked around at them. None of the gathered seemed to be against Lady Furse's suggestion.

"Alden, do you agree with Lady Furse?"

Alden straightened up and offered his thoughts.

"I do agree with her, Sir. We must protect the Spyridon to the best of our capabilities, and removing the prisoner would remove the threat of attack greatly."

_ 'Yeah, imagine explaining the loss of one of His Highness's most state-of-the-art ships to a band of rowdy villagers,' _he mused to himself.

He looked around for Hollister to gage his opinion, but couldn't find him.

"Alright. We'll move the prisoner to the inn tonight. Let's not make a big ordeal of it. I want to us keep a low profile as we do it. After we're securely inside the inn, the villagers will be alerted that the prisoner's been removed from the ship. That's all."

He glanced once more around the circle to let the watchers know he was serious about keeping this as controlled and competent as possible. They starred gravely back at him, acknowledging their understanding.

He nodded once and the group dispersed, each going off to attend to the relating duties. Hornblower looked over the railing towards the scraggily village. Lady Furse quietly joined him.

{{{{}}}}

"Daley, drop those trunks and help Codling with his," Hornblower hollered to the gangly, young lieutenant.

Daley did as he was told and hurried over to the teetering, older man and relieved him of some of the weight of the trunks.

The lieutenant dropped his voice and murmured to Codling in confidence, "I thought we tossed all of these over board during that last storm."

Codling dropped his voice to match, "Aye, thank th' Good Lord. But then, tha' good _lady _decided ter get 'erself a new batch back in tha' Danish port."

Daley rolled his eyes.

Hornblower watched them as they walked the chests over the rickety planks of the pier. Hollister emerged from below deck clearly disturbed. He hurried over to where the Captain stood. He quickly saluted before getting to his matter.

"You've given orders to remove the prisoner from the ship?"

"Yes, Commandant. You disapprove?"

"Most vehemently, Sir. We've got her securely imprisoned on board, Sir. Removing her to another, less secure location would be unwise in this situation."

"You would have me put the Spyridon's safety at risk to hold one prisoner, Hollister?"

Hollister tried to keep his composure as he tried to convince the Captain.

"Sir, the villager's would not dare attack an English war-ship-"

"And what if they did, Hollister? A pack of rabid dogs may destroy a single lion. No, we'll move the prisoner ashore. I have complete faith that you and you're men can imprison her satisfactorily on land, else I wouldn't have ordered it."

Hollister acquiesced and nodded. Hornblower clapped him on the shoulder and smiled.

"Don't worry, Benjamin. We'll see that justice gets served."

{{{{}}}}


End file.
